


Love Letters and Contracts

by mandychu



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Also Claude is an asshole, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hints of Bluer x Redmond as well, M/M, Shades of Sebastian x Claude but that's not what this fic is about, Weston School Arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-01-10 00:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12287229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandychu/pseuds/mandychu
Summary: Weston arc AU. As Ciel uncovers a vast web of corruption, exploitation, murder, and necromancy beneath the opulent surface of Weston College, a daunting new challenge presents itself on the horizon. Can Ciel open his heart to first love? Will his contract with Sebastian stand the test of a new antagonist? Or will all be lost to a battle of envy and deceit?





	1. Prologue

The first day of the fall semester had barely begun before rumors surrounding a certain student, newly inducted into the Scarlet Fox house of Weston College, circulated amongst the students.

“I heard he killed someone.”

“What?! Not a chance! He’s too girlish. I’m betting he’s a poof.”

"Maybe he _is_ a girl?”

“He’s not. I heard he’s got four girlfriends, and one of them manages an opium den for him while he’s away at school.”

“An underclassman?! With four girlfriends and an opium den?! Don’t be stupid.”

“Well, how else is he so well-off?”

“If he’s in Scarlet Fox, that means he’s born into nobility, no?”

“Nobility my _arse._ Herbert Callington said he saw him spit in the stairwell of the west wing. Said whatever it was he coughed up, it was the size of a marble. Just retched it out and walked away, like it was the most ordinary thing.”

“Disgusting!”

“Leave it to Herbert Callington to _examine_ it. That’s Sapphire Owl, for you.”

“You think maybe the bloke has asthma?”

“It’s possible. I’m amazed he didn’t get a Y for spitting in the stairwell. I’m telling you, those Scarlet Fox types get special treatment.”

“Maybe, but . . . something tells me _that_ one won’t be getting any kind of special treatment come fag time . . .”


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The full spectrum of Sebastian’s demonic abilities couldn’t stop the tiny smile forming on his face. His young master? Making friends? Gaining popularity amongst his fellow students? That was mildly comical. His young master having to demonstrate kindness and common courtesy to others? His young master kissing ass? That was downright hilarious."

Standing in the stately office of Professor Michaelis at the crack of dawn, Ciel Phantomhive absentmindedly fumbled with his blue tie in one hand, as he held a schedule in the other. He furrowed his brow, dissatisfied with what was on it. “Tea at 7:00, class at 7:30, breakfast at 9:00, followed by . . . _fag time?!_ What the fuck? Followed by an afternoon break at 2:00, and then cricket at 5:00?” Ciel dropped the schedule and gave Sebastian an incredulous look. “Sebastian, does any _learning_ occur at this school?”

Sebastian, or, to the students of Weston College, Professor Michaelis, put on a useless pair of spectacles, and glanced at himself in a hand-mirror with a smug expression. He had yet to try on his uniform as a professor, but he immensely welcomed the change. “It will now that _I_ teach here, if that’s of any comfort to you.”

Ciel rolled his eye. “My curriculum at home was far more strenuous than this. _And_ I ran the Funtom Company, _and_ performed my duties as watchdog. I can’t believe parents actually spend as much money as they do to send their children here.”

Sebastian’s voice was as serene as ever. “There are some who hold the philosophy of maintaining a balance between work and play, claiming that a life spent in perpetual work is an unhealthy one. Daily free-time can be beneficial for both physical and mental health. Perhaps you ought to consider adopting that lifestyle.”

Ciel pouted. “At least I know how to solve for X.”

Sebastian leaned on his new desk, partially pleased with his cushy new office, and partially amused by Ciel’s plight. “Ah, but do you know how to make friends? Because that’s what you’re here for.”

Ciel folded his arms. “That’s oversimplifying it, but yes. I was sent here by the Queen to investigate the missing students. To do so, I must speak with the headmaster. To speak with the headmaster, one must be a prefect. To become a prefect, one must climb the social ladder. It’s all very convoluted. But yes, Sebastian, I’m here to make friends. Or at least . . . get people to like me . . .” Ciel gulped at the dauting task before him.

The full spectrum of Sebastian’s demonic abilities couldn’t stop the tiny smile forming on his face. His young master? Making friends? Gaining popularity amongst his fellow students? That was mildly comical. His young master having to demonstrate kindness and common courtesy to others? His young master _kissing ass?_ That was downright hilarious.

Ciel shared in none of Sebastian’s amusement. “Stop that!” he spat. “It isn’t funny!”

Sebastian’s voice wavered, giving away his closeness to outright laughter even further. “I said nothing of the sort.” he denied, covering his gleeful, demonic grin with a gloved hand.

Ciel muttered something unintelligible and stomped away, making a point to slam the door of Sebastian’s office behind him.

Sebastian was undecided as to whether he wanted to laugh or sigh. Teenagers are hell.

******

The professor glared at the student before his desk with hostile, unfeeling eyes that were an eerie color of something between yellow and gold. His face was expressionless, and his affect was flat. Perfect for mentoring adolescent boys. “Don’t embarrass yourself today.” he muttered.

“Okay.”

“Don’t embarrass me.”

“I won’t.”

The professor’s eyes narrowed as he folded his hands, interlocking his fingers. “There are rumors about you circulating as we speak. Take care not to . . . confirm them.”

The student folded his arms. “That depends. What kind of rumors? Anything juicy?”

“Yes, but I won’t indulge you. Knowing you, you’d go out of your way to act as if they were true, to strike fear in the hearts of others. I can only fathom the lengths you would go to, just to maintain that façade. In speaking of which—”

The student grew frustrated. “Yes, you don’t have to remind me _again.”_ he griped.

“Scarlet Fox is reserved for only those of noble birth, so _act_ like it. One student already saw you spit in a stairwell. In a highly crude and disgusting manner, I might add. I’ve half a mind to give you a Y, if I thought you’d learn anything from it.”

Like any other teenager, the student groaned with full force. “Ugh! Fine. I won’t get caught again. Happy?”

A split-second of silence transpired. No, the professor was not happy, but saying so would fix nothing.

The professor cracked an insincere smile. “Red suits you.”

The student was taken aback. A compliment?! From him?! “Th . . . Thank you . . .” he whispered, clutching his chest in disbelief. _Did I just get a fucking_ compliment?! _Am I dreaming?!_

“It’s a shame that the uniform you wear represents possessing no talent outside of noble birth. Think about it. Green Lion is for those who excel in sports and martial arts, Sapphire Owl is for those who excel in their studies, and Violet Wolf is for those who excel in the arts. But . . . what do students in Scarlet Fox excel at? Other than having wealthy parents?” The professor removed his spectacles and cleaned them with a cloth, pondering the answer to his question. “Of course, you don’t even have that, do you?”

The student’s expression grew dark. “I wish I could fucking kill you.” he growled menacingly. (Or at least as menacingly as a young, vaguely feminine, adolescent boy could.)

Most with common sense would read the student’s threat as moderately dangerous, or at least as a sign to end the conflict. However, being who he is, the professor carried on with his castigation as if the student had given his consent to do so. “May I remind you, if it weren’t for my doing, you wouldn’t be in this prestigious school in the first place.”

The student looked at the floor. He wanted to scream. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to do . . . _something. Anything._

“Now, heed my advice once more. Don’t embarrass yourself, and _don’t_ embarrass me.”

In a half-hearted attempt to escape the professor’s antagonism, the student changed the subject. “I don’t see why I have to go to this bloody school in the first place. I'd be fine at home.”

The professor broke from his usual deadpan demeanor to display an annoyed expression on his face. “If you wish to succeed in your position, then you need to develop the ability to form positive and rewarding social relationships. Or at least pretend as if your social relationships are positive and rewarding, if only for the sake of your own gain. A skill that you demonstrate a considerable lack in, by the way.”

The student laughed out loud. “Ha! As if you care about me making friends! Go on, then. What’s your real motive behind all this?”

The professor remained silent and unable to read. “I just told you.” he replied flatly.

The student was not satisfied. “You’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”

“I never said that.”

“No, but you act like it.”

The professor exhaled sharply. “As I’ve stated a thousand times before, as long as—”

The student yawned theatrically, placing one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth. “Bo-ring!” he exclaimed in a sing-song voice. “Seriously, save it. I don’t need to hear the same rehearsed speech you give me every time we have this discussion. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s fag time.” With that, the student rapidly exited the professor’s office, slamming the door behind him. (Truthfully, it was time for class, but he got a kick out of saying “fag time.”)

The professor was motionless and inwardly befuddled, though he displayed no evidence of it outwardly. _Fag time?_

He chose to shake off his befuddlement, uncaring of what the student got himself into, so long as it wouldn’t attract too much attention. (It would. He knew it deep down, for the student lived for attention.)

The professor inhaled sharply, searching desperately for the faintest scent of the true reason for his new vocation.

_Ciel Phantomhive._

******

Somewhere between being thrust into mid-air, and landing in a thin sheet held taut by his fellow Sapphire Owl students, Ciel wondered if he had a lapse in judgement in choosing to conduct his investigation in this way.

“Heave ho!” his fellow students cheered with jovial expressions plastered upon their young faces. The students of Sapphire Owl were not known for having exceptional abilities in athletics, but this was the closest thing they excelled at in that arena.

Naturally, _they_ were all having a great deal of fun. They already paid their debt, and Ciel had a sneaking suspicion this “welcome party” was significantly more enjoyable from the outer edges of the sheet, rather than the center. 

The voice of Clayton, the prefect’s fag, echoed from the crowd.“How do you like our dorm’s traditional welcome party? I’ll expect you to work even harder at your studies from now on, as a member of the Sapphire Owl dormitory.”

Ciel was ready to scream, cry, vomit, and have a panic attack simultaneously.

“The next one will be even higher!”

Ciel feebly began to protest, knowing it was futile. “Sto—”

“One . . . two . . .”

 _How did this happen to me?! Where is Sebastian?!_ Ciel thought in his panicked state.

Before he could be launched into mid-air by a herd of short-sighted teenage boys like a paper plane, an elegant, yet threatening voice interrupted the exchange. One that was instantly recognizable to Ciel. “What is that racket?! I’ll give you all a Y!”

“Oh no! It’s the dorm supervisor!” a student cried.

In the midst of the alarm experienced by the other students, Ciel was negligently dropped to the floor. A highly undignified and less-than-masculine “WAH!” escaped his lips as his body hit the floor with full force.

The authoritative voice from earlier cut through the shuffling and scrambling of boys who had just been caught red-handed. “Clayton, why are you, as an upper year, participating in this?”

Clayton looked ready to piss himself. “That’s . . . This is a tradition of our dorm . . .” He internally cringed. Despite attending a school that prided itself on its traditions, the words that came out of his mouth sounded incredibly stupid and childish.

“Goodness . . .” the voice chided. “There’s tradition and there’s overdoing it.”

Ciel gathered his strength and got on his knees, endeavoring to catch his breath.

“You’re the new student, Phantomhive, correct?”

Ciel looked up at the source of the voice, the one that he knew better than his own. Before him was Sebastian, in all his glory, dressed in black robes with a pair of (totally unnecessary) spectacles on his face, and a rosary around his neck.  _O_ _f fucking course._ Ciel thought, fighting back the urge to roll his eye with every fiber of his being.

“Welcome to the Sapphire Owl dormitory. I’m the dorm supervisor, Michaelis.” Sebastian introduced himself, cordially.

Ciel inhaled sharply as his eye traveled to the contents of his right hand. _Is that a fucking riding crop?_


	3. Preserving Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I, myself, am fond of taxidermy as well. Some creatures are so beautiful, don’t you think? I think preservation of beauty is paramount. After all, beauty is so . . . ephemeral . . .”

After collecting a hoard of dirty dishes from the dining hall, the newest member of Scarlet Fox crossed the courtyard and returned to his dorm with his shoulders slumped and a dejected expression upon his face. From the garden that surrounded the dorm, it appeared that the other students had already gone to bed. The lights were out, and not a sound could be heard from inside the building.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his untucked shirt before yanking the grandiose front door open, uncaring of how loud the eventual _SLAM_ behind him would be. He then stood still and blinked a few times. “Fucking hell, why is it so _dark?”_ he whispered to himself, assuming he was alone in the foyer.

Or so he thought. A hand around his mouth and a pair of arms around his waist not only shattered the illusion of solitude, but answered his question as well. “Mmph! What the fuck?!” he tried to protest, though the hand clasped around his mouth was mighty and motionless.

A rag soon replaced the hand. “What the fuck?! That better not be chloroform!” he tried to articulate. Instead, what probably came out was, “Mmph mm mmh! Mmph mmmr mr m mmhmmhphrm!”

Minutes later, the new student found himself in a dimly-lit billiards room, surrounded by the other members of Scarlet Fox. He himself had been situated on top of a pool table, as his fellow students held him down.

Before him was an opulent fireplace; the fire inside illuminating the room and coloring the faces of the boys around him a deep shade of scarlet. It was surrounded by a grotesque display of taxidermy creatures, most notably a fox on the mantle. There was something off-putting about the fox, but the new student couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Between being kidnapped, and being held against his will, his observational abilities were somewhat compromised.

Casually leaning on the mantle was an upperclassman that could only be described as angelic. His green eyes were like stained glass, gleaming in the roaring, animated firelight. His hair was the color of platinum, and was coiffed in flawless curls that cascaded to his chin. His lashes were thick and long, and his cheeks were rosy and glowing. He looked so pure, yet there was a subtle edge to him. Something nefarious brewing beneath the surface, comparable to the sharp thorns hidden beneath the roses that flourished around the dormitory.

“You must be wondering why I brought you here.” he remarked nonchalantly, as if there weren’t a frightened boy being held against his will within feet of him. “Wickfield, take that cloth out of his mouth, will you? There’s no need to be barbaric. This is supposed to be fun!” He flashed a pearly white grin. This was not supposed to be fun.

A faceless student obliged, and the new student’s mouth was free of restraint. In his usual unrestrained manner, he inquired as to the first thing on his mind. “What the fuck is this shit?!”

“I told you he’s uncivilized.” one student muttered.

“Quiet, Bresland. He’s our newest brother, and he deserves the same welcoming we all received upon joining this dormitory.” the angel-faced student reprimanded. He turned to the new student. “My apologies. You must be wondering who I am and what’s going on. My name is Maurice Cole, fag of the prefect, Edgar Redmond. You may call me Cole, because here at Weston, we’re all required to refer to our fellow students by their last name.”

“Nobody cares about that bloody rule.” another student interjected.

“Shut it!” Cole’s demeanor went from welcoming to hostile in milliseconds. He turned back to the new student, the cherubic smile returning to his face. “Now, as you may have already observed, there are certain . . . motifs that are prevalent within Red House. For instance, there is the color red, the roses . . . the foxes . . .”

The eyes of every student present in the room traveled to the mantle of the fireplace, where the taxidermy fox lived. It’s relevance to the situation was unspoken, though the new student had yet to learn why.

Cole continued. “Indeed, no doubt you’ve noticed the taxidermy on our mantle as well. Did you know that the founder of this dormitory was fond of taxidermy? Many of us students . . . no . . . _brothers_ of Scarlet Fox have followed in his footsteps . . .” As if out of nowhere, a shiny blade materialized in Cole’s hand. He took a moment to admire how the newly sharpened blade reflected the crimson firelight. The other students shifted uncomfortably.

“What are you doing?” the new student asked, cautiously. This seemed less of a welcoming party and more of an organ-harvesting party.

A melodic laugh escaped Cole’s lips. He continued his speech as if the new student never spoke in the first place. “I, myself, am fond of taxidermy as well. Some creatures are so beautiful, don’t you think? I think preservation of beauty is paramount. After all, beauty is so . . . ephemeral . . .” He admired his reflection in his knife. No, not admiration. _Examination._

The new student fought with all his might, which was more than expected from the young teenager, but alas, it was futile against a mob of tightly-knit brothers. “What the fuck is going on?! Let me go!”

Cole continued his musings. “Preservation is important in this school. Preservation of tradition, of values, of youth. I suppose, in a way, that’s what taxidermy represents. Preserving the dead as if they’re alive. It’s almost as if we’re bringing them back, in a way.” His gaze turned from his reflection to the fox on the mantle. “That fox is dead, but . . . when I look at him, he almost seems alive to me.”

The new student was thrashing violently. “Oi, what the fuck are you blithering on about?!”

Another laugh escaped the lips of Maurice Cole. “I know it seems like such a bizarre thing to contemplate. It’s not as if the fox is _truly_ alive, I'm aware of that. He’ll never hunt again, never think for himself—Well, as much as a fox could. My point is that he’s no more or less alive than a doll.”

Another student spoke up. “Cole . . . I think you’re scaring him a bit too much . . .”

Cole smiled politely. “My apologies. That’s not my intention at all.” He approached the new student, knife in hand. “I’m simply sharing my interests with our newcomer. He’s quite a specimen, no? I hear Redmond is quite taken with him. Indeed, he bears a bit of resemblance to our prefect . . .” Cole sighed. “That simply won’t do.”

“It’s only a coinci—” The new student felt the cold blade—an odd sensation juxtaposed against the roaring heat of the fire—pressed against his throat. “Oh fuck . . .” he whispered. _I’m going to fucking die!_ He is _trying to get rid of me, and_ he _put them up to this! It’s the only explanation!_ His mind raced with a myriad of terrifying explanations as to why this was occurring, while he could only verbalize, “Fuck . . . fuck . . . fuck . . .”

“This one is quite beautiful, don’t you all think? I dare say, almost as beautiful as me. Foul-mouthed and ill-tempered, however, like a street rat. Still, perhaps we ought to preserve him . . .”

A new source of light from the opposite end of the room interrupted the slicing of Cole’s blade into the body of the new student. Everyone in the room froze, either caught red-handed or basking in their rescue. “Oh, not this shit again.” a youthful voice groaned. “Maurice, didn’t I tell you not to overdo it?”

The new student took advantage of the distraction of his fellow students, and wriggled from their grasps. He flipped over to see an upperclassman with long, silvery-blonde hair loosely tied in a red ribbon. His resting expression was something between kindness and slyness, like, well, appropriately, like a fox. Though he was undeniably Scarlet Fox, his uniform was quite different. _A prefect,_ he realized. _Edgar Redmond._

Stifled, Cole returned the blade of the knife to its handle. He said nothing.

Redmond decided to drop the situation for now, and rushed to the new student, still lying on the pool table in a pool of sweat. “Goodness! Are you alright?! Are you injured?”

The new student sat up straight, endeavoring to regain his composure. “I’m fine. I’m not hurt, I don’t think.”

Redmond went to work, dabbing the sweat off the new student’s forehead with a handkerchief, straightening his tie, and tucking his shirt in. “My apologies. I didn’t think my fag would go this far. You see, here at Red House, we like to give newcomers a little scare before we start the welcoming ritual.” His attention turned to the rest of the members of Scarlet Fox. “A _little_ scare!” he reiterated.

The new student had an expression of incredulity on his face. “You mean . . . the ritual hasn’t even _started?!”_

Redmond gave a nervous laugh. “No, no. I’m afraid it hasn’t. Once again, I apologize on behalf of my fag and the rest of the students. Truly, they’re good people, and you couldn’t ask for better brothers in this school. I’m afraid they just got carried away tonight.” His expression grew dark as his gaze drifted across the crowd of his underlings. “It _won’t_ happen again.”

The new student wiped his face with his sleeve. “It’s no matter.” he replied with a sharp exhale. “Let the rituals begin, I suppose.” he continued, unenthusiastically. This was going to be a long night.


	4. Nectar of the Fox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Of all the activities the newest member of Scarlet Fox projected he would be engaged in on his first day of school, or at any point in his life, drinking rum from the asshole of a dead fox was not one of them."

"Nectar of the gods." Redmond removed the taxidermy fox from the mantle. "Throughout history, this term has been used to refer to . . . well, anything under the sun. Wine, ale, beer. Our founder used this term to describe rum, which he was famously fond of." Redmond began to gently pet the lifeless fox, as if holding it was a rare privilege.

The prefect continued. "Now, I’m certain you’ve read over the rules and regulations of this campus, and you’re aware of the prohibition of alcohol here. However," Redmond’s face had a devious smirk upon it. "being who you are, you’re also undoubtedly aware that many of us in Red House have a bit of a . . . rebellious streak. It’s a well-kept secret. Mind you, nothing on par with the eccentrics of Violet Wolf, but many of us do tend to gravitate towards . . . slight mischief. As the sons of the highest echelons of society, most of us can’t help it."

The new student, still seated upon the billiards table, unrestrained, leaned forward and rested his chin on his fist in intrigue. "Do go on." he responded, feeling a modicum of relatability to the members of Scarlet Fox. Mischief? Rebellion? Sounds capital.

Redmond’s gaze fell to the stuffed fox in his arms. "This fox . . . you’re probably wondering why we’ve been making such a big fuss over it." He held it up, as if it were being introduced to the circle of life. "This is no ordinary stuffed fox."

The new student raised an eyebrow.

Redmond shoved the fox’s behind in front of the new student’s face, pushing away the soft fur of the tail. "Do you see that?"

What the hell? The new student’s eyes were like saucers as they discovered what Redmond was referring to. _What the hell?! "_ Is that a . . . bottlecap?"

Redmond smiled. "Twist it open."

The student hesitated. If this entire scenario wasn’t already bizarre, it was now. _What the bloody hell is wrong with this school?_ He reluctantly obliged, noting a distinct scent emanating from the fox as he did so. "Rum?" he inquired.

"You’ve a good nose." Redmond looked pleased.

The new student began to put two and two together. _Oh god._

******

Sleep evaded Ciel. His mind was racing. Missing students, ridiculous traditions, Sebastian as a professor (What the hell would he even teach? Butler stuff? Human souls: need ‘em, cheat ‘em, and eat ‘em?), and, worst of all, being surrounded by other boys in his age range.

He flipped to his side, hoping he would magically fall asleep so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge his anxieties. The young earl loathed other nobles, institutions, and flattery. Furthermore, there was something about being packed into a school full of other boys his age that caused him significant discomfort.

Ciel shifted around in bed, desperately searching for a relief to his physical discomfort as he struggled to understand his mental discomfort. A school full of students who share in his demographic. A dormitory full of boys who share in his interests and abilities. A daily schedule that prioritizes friendship and brotherhood over academics. Long trousers. What’s not to love?

The analytical young lord scoured his mind to target something specific that caused his malaise. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the missing students. People go missing every day. People die every day. Ciel was all too familiar with these realities, and to him, this case was simply a job. Nothing more, nothing less.

The sociability of his fellow students bothered him. Everyone seemed to be friends with one another. Cliques and social circles had already been established, and none seemed to have room for the taciturn Ciel Phantomhive. Indeed, he felt excluded and ostracized, like a leper.

No, Ciel had been forced to socialize in the past. Granted, he disliked it, but grew accustomed to the chore out of necessity, in the way one would grow accustomed to a painful, terminal illness. Beyond that, Ciel willingly subjected himself to social isolation. He made no effort to say hi to anyone, or learn anyone’s name, or do so much as to look in the direction of another student . . .

There was more to it than simple socialization. But what?

Looking at his fellow students . . . that brought up something in him. Why? Why couldn’t Ciel Phantomhive, teenage mastermind and watchdog of the underworld, bring himself to look at another boy? Why did he feel so alienated, and why did he push himself further to alienation? Why was something as simple as _eye contact,_ a practice that to even an infant is second-nature, such a challenge for the young lord?

Bright, brilliant eyes of every color under the sun that gazed at him with the same curiosity that he possessed. Endearing smiles of all types—glowing, crooked, shy, knowing—flashed in his direction, as if they were all an invitation. Some students were quite tall, with broad shoulders and slender, yet toned torsos hidden beneath their crisp uniforms. Others were shorter, with thin, delicate frames, and round, kissable cheeks with large, round eyes to match, rendering them quite (and Ciel hated this word, but none other would suffice) adorable.

Some students had freckles that danced across the bridge of their noses, like the stars in the night sky. Some had long, silken hair that cascaded down their shoulders like veils. Others had their hair cropped, flattering their masculinity. Jawlines of all shapes were exposed (for facial hair was against the dress code), though some had a thin layer of stubble that brought up an animalistic desire within Ciel; urging him to reach out and run his bare hands across it, feeling its coarse ruggedness.

The same animalistic desire that urged him to nibble on the earlobes of the other boys, to travel to their soft, veiny necks that pump excitedly as their hearts race. The same desire that overcame him during brief interactions with some of the other boys, that urged him to interrupt their useless small talk by cupping them by the chin and . . .

No, he could never. Such a thing would be unthinkable, and only a total leave of his senses would allow him to explore such notions.

Ciel flipped over again, lying flat on his back. He was starting to feel overwhelmed . . .

His breathing grew ragged as he gripped the sheets and slammed his eyes shut. He felt as if he were on the verge of combustion, his cheeks turning from a rosy pink to a deep scarlet. Ciel exhaled sharply as he ripped the comforter off his body, desperate for some cool air. As he looked around at the beds of his fellow students, he felt utterly exposed.

Nope! Blanket stays on. Ciel took the extra measure of hiking the blanket all the up to his face, as if it acted as some sort of barrier between his private thoughts and the prying eyes of the sleeping teenagers around him.

Perhaps one of these days, he'll figure out the source of his disorientation. Tonight was not that time.

******

Of all the activities the newest member of Scarlet Fox projected he would be engaged in on his first day of school, or at any point in his life, drinking rum from the asshole of a dead fox was not one of them.

He lifted the opening to his lips, red-orange fur tickling his nostrils as he did so. In his mind, he had two options. He could either wallow in humiliation and gingerly take a sip, endeavoring to make the experience as quick and painless as possible. Or, he could imbibe as much rum as he could fervently, make a spectacle of himself, and possibly gain the acceptance and respect of his prospective brothers. Though he initially cared nothing for what others thought of him, he opted for the latter.

“Oi, stick your tongue in it!” one student called out.

“Ew, other people have to drink from it too, you know.” another student replied in disgust.

The new student obliged, and crammed his tongue in the opening in the most lewd and suggestive manner, making a naughty facial expression in the process. This earned a split reaction from the crowd, some appalled, some amused, and some were simply entertained. Regardless, the crowd broke out in applause as their newest member nursed the fox’s asshole without pause.

Redmond was the first to halt his cheers, and pulled the fox away from the new student. “Alright, you’ve had enough. We’re trying to conserve that, you know.”

The new student wiped his mouth. He could feel strands of fur in his nose, mouth, and on his face. “It’s good rum.” he responded. “Worth it to drink out of a fox’s arse.”

Another voice from the crowd of students called out, “You get the metaphor, don’t you? It’s for kissing arse! We do a lot of that at this school!”

Redmond frowned. “That’s only a coincidence! There’s no _metaphor_ behind this, it’s simply all in good fun!” His expression grew slightly despondent. “Though, as a metaphor, it works a little too well, doesn’t it?”

The new student didn’t know how to respond to that. He shrugged.

Redmond changed the subject. “Well, regardless, you’ve officially completed the welcoming ritual! Come tomorrow, when you sign in at the headmaster’s office, you’ll be official.”

The new student smiled. “Can’t wait.” he said, still undecided about this place.

Redmond held out his hand, formally. The new student took it, and Redmond gave the handshake a single pump.

“Welcome to Scarlet Fox, Alois Trancy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I may or may not have been inspired by an episode of Bob's Burgers to write this scene. But hey, it works, right?
> 
> And now we know who our mystery student is! (Of course, in the likely event that you read the tags, you probably already knew.)


	5. Tradition is Absolute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ciel and Alois, who had been strangers mere minutes ago, exchanged looks, feeling a slight sense of comradery built upon the sheer uncomfortable nature of the situation. Hadn’t they simply come here to sign in? 'I do.' they replied in unison."

Ciel sat on one of the spiral staircases of the Sapphire Owl dining hall, leading to a series of bookshelves that served as a mini-library for the dormitory. As he was reading through some notes on Derek Clemens, one of the missing students, that were hidden inside of a history textbook, Ciel was interrupted by Lawrence Bluer.

"Gah!" Ciel cried out as Bluer yanked the textbook out of his hand, flipped it right-side-up, and handed it back to him.

"My apologies." Bluer stated as he adjusted his spectacles. "I’m always pleased to see soon-to-be members of my dormitory getting a head-start on their studies but . . . well, most people don’t study upside-down." He gave a chuckle, endeavoring to not come off as being too critical.

Ciel made a face. Was the book upside-down? How embarrassing. "Right," was all he could utter in response.

A few seconds of painfully awkward silence passed, which were broken by Bluer. "Shall we get to it? I don’t want to keep the other student waiting."

Ciel stood. "Other student?" he inquired. _That’s impossible. There was no room for entry when I applied here. Sebastian had to_ make _room. How did someone else get in at the same time as me?_

Bluer raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "You haven’t heard?"

Ciel felt sheepish. Should he have heard? Is this the kind of thing he would have heard about if he had friends? "No."

"Oh . . . well . . ." Bluer trailed off. He had heard _so much_ about the other new student, but as a prefect, he knew better than to engage in trivial gossip. "It’s no matter. Come along, we don’t want to be late."

Ciel grabbed his school supplies, a massive pile of textbooks and notebooks that were haphazardly strapped together, and descended the spiral staircase.

"You have an awful lot to carry for a junior student." Bluer remarked.

"Yes, I’ve already learned much of the material we’re covering this year from my independent studies back home. I decided on bringing my old notes and my own supplies, so I wouldn’t have to start over from scratch. It’ll save me some time, at least."

Bluer was impressed. Most junior students didn’t have that kind of foresight. In fact, most junior students didn’t arrive at school _already knowing_ the material. He gave Ciel a more genuine smile. "You’ll go far in this school, Phantomhive."

******

The headmaster’s office was nothing short of imposing. Between the high ceiling, the gaudy stained-glass window, and the organ pipes on each side of the headmaster’s desk, it was only stately. However, the colossal pendulum that swayed behind the headmaster’s desk took the office from being stately to downright ostentatious.

A long rug ran from the steps at the foot of headmaster’s desk to the doors to the office, where Ciel waited alone. He set his school supplies down by the door, anxiously waiting for the go-ahead. He was already inconvenienced by how tight the jacket of his uniform felt across his shoulders, but having to skip tea and wake up so early in the morning was downright vexing. Still, this was an important opportunity, and he had no other option.

Though Ciel knew the headmaster only interacted with the P4, he _needed_ to visit him. He was positive the headmaster would have some knowledge on these disappearances. Or, if the headmaster claimed to have none, at least meeting him and being in his office would give Ciel an insight on how to further extrapolate information. (When are the office hours? When could he sneak in? Could Sebastian distract the headmaster in any fashion? Could Sebastian seduce the headmaster? Or threaten him?)

Startling Ciel, a boy’s voice quipped, "Do you think he’s compensating for something?"

Ciel turned to the source of the voice and instantly wished he hadn’t. Light blonde hair, like dew bathed in sunlight that dripped from a spider’s web. Blue eyes, like radiant diamonds. Fair skin that had seen a hint of the sun’s rays. In fact, his entire being had some kind of solar essence to it, as if the boy standing next to him were an actual ray of sunshine.

Ciel couldn’t stop his eye from trailing downward. The boy next to him was Scarlet Fox, but it took a minute for that to register in Ciel’s mind, for he was distracted by his long legs and slender, yet toned frame. He had to look away, fearful of his face flushing. _This is bad. This is very, very bad._

Much to his dismay, Ciel’s blush did not go unnoticed by his new counterpart, who was allured by his bashfulness juxtaposed to his otherwise domineering disposition. It’s immensely difficult to be both adorable and mysterious simultaneously, but somehow, Ciel pulled it off with ease. Perhaps it was the eyepatch. Whatever it was, it was attractive as hell.

Ciel forgot what the other student had just said. "I . . . yes . . . sorry . . . who are you?" How suave.

The other student dropped his pile of school supplies by the door, much less sizable compared to Ciel’s, and held his hand out to shake. "Alois Earl Trancy. You must be Ciel Phantomhive?"

Ciel shook Alois’ hand, feeling self-conscious of how sweaty his palms were. "Yes. You know my name?" Ciel inquired cautiously. Had he been the subject of gossip as well?

"Of course! I eat your candy. Your lollipops are my favorite."

Ciel felt another blush come on. "Err . . . thanks . . . i-it’s always nice to meet a boy— _loyal_ customer, I mean." he stuttered. _CALM DOWN!!_ Ciel raged inside his head.

Alois chuckled in response. "I’m sure by now, you’ve heard loads about me."

"I—"

 _"Psst!"_ It was Redmond, from the other end of the massive office. "Mr. Agares, the vice headmaster, is here. You two can come in now."

 _Vice headmaster?_ Ciel pondered. _The headmaster doesn’t even have time for this?_

Side-by-side, Ciel and Alois set foot on the long rug that acted as an aisle, their destination being the foot of the steps leading up to the headmaster’s desk. The journey felt longer than necessary, due to the immense size of the room, which felt more like a cathedral than an office.

Alois whispered, "How funny would it be if we held hands right now? Imagine the look on that bloke’s face." He snorted, trying to keep his giggles to a minimum.

Ciel huffed, feeling more embarrassed than anything. "Uh . . . it wouldn’t be, and the _vice headmaster_ would think we’ve gone mad."

Herman Greenhill, Edgar Redmond, Lawrence Bluer, and Gregory Violet were all situated near the steps, on opposite sides of the rug, as if they were set up for a cultish ritual.

Greenhill was the first to break the silence, with a sense of straightforwardness mixed with civility in his voice. "It’s been a day since you two arrived. How are you feeling, Phantomhive? Trancy?" His expression changed upon making eye-contact with Alois. "Trancy? What is so funny?"

Alois’ giggles were now the result of nervousness more than anything. "Nothing. It’s nothing."

Redmond’s expression was understanding. "Nerves, perhaps? Fear not, we’re not as scary as we look." A mischievous smirk crossed his face. "Except for Gregory."

Violet didn’t even try to refute that statement. It was true.

Before Bluer could administer a lecture on how it was improper to call another student by his first name, Redmond continued. "Phantomhive, feel free to come to Red House if you can’t get used to Blue House. We’d welcome someone of your status anytime." His dark eyes, which were almost a deep shade of crimson, darted back and forth between Ciel and Alois. They were certainly a pair.

Bluer tired of Redmond’s informal behavior. It was unbecoming of a prefect. Adjusting his spectacles, he corrected Redmond, saying, "Only the principal can decide one’s dormitory. No exceptions."

Violet tired of this entire exchange. "The dormitories are all the same, though."

As if on cue, the vice-principal, began his rehearsed speech. "This is a high-class public school protected by tradition and discipline. From the moment you enter, you have to obey the rules." He glared at the two new students with stoic, vacant eyes. "Normally, the principal would give you the welcome speech, but since he is busy, I’ll be representing him. I am the vice-principal, Johan Agares."

Ciel frowned. _What is the headmaster so busy with?_

"The principal decides all matter within the school." Greenhill interjected.

"These decisions are absolute." Redmond added on.

Bluer continued, "And we, the prefects, have been chosen by the principal to govern the school."

Violet finished, saying, "A rather unpleasant job in which we have to subdue all trouble."

Johan Agares picked up the speech again. "This has been our tradition since the school’s founding. And . . ."

Confirming that this speech was indeed rehearsed, the prefects proclaimed all at once, "Tradition is absolute!"

Ciel and Alois were taken aback. Of course, it’s always startling to hear multiple people say the same thing at once with such confidence out of nowhere.

The vice-headmaster’s attention turned back to the two new students before him. "Do you swear to keep to the rules of our school, and obey our tradition and discipline?"

Ciel and Alois, who had been strangers mere minutes ago, exchanged looks, feeling a slight sense of comradery built upon the sheer uncomfortable nature of the situation. Hadn’t they simply come here to sign in? "I do." they replied in unison.

Ciel’s face began to flush yet again. A cathedral-like room. A long walk down an aisle, side-by-side with an undeniably handsome boy. The phrase, "I do." Deep down, he wasn’t entirely unconvinced that this was a wedding ceremony. A realization struck him. _Oh! That’s why he was laughing and asking to hold hands! I get it now!_ He cringed. _Fuck, I feel stupid now for not getting the joke until now._

The vice-principal stood, holding an open book. "Then sign here." As he made his way down the steps, he demonstrated a poor relationship with gravity, and tumbled down like a loose pile of bricks.

Redmond, Bluer, and Greenhill were stunned. "Mr. Agares?!" they all shouted in concern. Violet remained aloof, demonstrating no reaction.

Mr. Agares, who laid flat on his back with his legs over his shoulders and his behind in the air, muttered, "Sorry, sorry, sorry!"

Alois cupped his hand over his mouth, holding his breath and his eyes shut, trying not to burst into hysterics. Ciel had a look of astonishment upon his face.

Mr. Agares, who was bleeding profusely from his forehead, picked himself up and acted as if nothing happened. He held the book out to Ciel and Alois. "Sign here."

Ciel and Alois signed their names side-by-side in the book. _They came up with that whole speech just for this?_ Ciel thought. _What a waste of time. I could have slept in another hour._

Alois exhaled sharply, hoping the purge the giggles he held in his system. He casually motioned to the wound on the vice principal’s forehead. "Err, you’ve got—"

Mr. Agares completely disregarded the new student, along with the blood streaming down his face. "Phantomhive, Trancy, welcome to Weston College."

He gave Ciel and Alois each a strong, forceful handshake with his ice-cold hands, thus sealing the deal.

The P4 escorted the two new students out of the office, leaving them by the doorway. "Well then, may you two have a pleasant life at the school!" Redmond called out.

Ciel frowned. He was exhausted, and it wasn’t even 8:00 AM yet. _I’m not about to waste this time all for nothing. The least I can do is_ ask. Ciel thought. "Hey!" he called out. "When can I meet the principal?"

"The principal is very busy and does not meet with regular students." Bluer replied. "The only ones who can have meetings with the principal are us prefects." With that, the P4 walked away, making it clear they were no longer taking questions.

The voice of Alois made Ciel jump. "Regular students can’t meet the principal?"

Ciel gulped, feeling breathless upon looking at Alois’ face. The intense feeling Ciel got when he and Alois made direct eye-contact made him uncomfortable, but his desire to admire the golden-haired boy overcame his social anxiety. "It seems so." he responded. "The principal is like the absolute monarch of the school."

Alois removed his jacket and casually slung it over his shoulder. He then untucked his crisp, white shirt and rolled up the sleeves. "Sounds like an arsehole, if he can’t even make time for us students. Of course, all adults are the same, so I dunno what I was expecting. And to think, I was even on my best behavior for the bloke. I obeyed the dress-code and everything." He loosened his tie as he scoffed. "Fuck that shit."

Ciel was astounded by the transformation that took place in front of him. Wasn’t Scarlet Fox reserved for only the most refined members of high society? What was this boy doing acting like a common delinquent? Was he going through a rebellious phase? Was he simply mad? The added intrigue did nothing but make Ciel internally swoon. _STOP THAT!!_ He chided himself.

Alois ran his fingers through his blonde hair, ruining Claude’s work of making sure each strand was in place. He thoroughly enjoyed the reaction he got from Ciel—how he kept blushing, slamming his eye shut, and fidgeting with his jacket. It was rather endearing. In a way, Ciel’s innocent nature reminded him of his late brother, Luka.

_Luka . . ._

Alois bit the inside of his cheek, distracting himself from the emotional pain that surfaced upon remembering his little brother. No, that wasn’t good enough. He gazed at the charming one-eyed boy before him. “So, what’s your first class this week?” he inquired. Small talk is a tedious feat, but it’s better than nothing when it comes to a distraction.

“Err . . . world hist—” Ciel cut himself off. “Oh, shit. What time is it?” Before Alois could answer, he pulled out his pocket-watch. 7:25 AM. “Fuck!” he cursed.

Alois couldn’t help but grin at his flustered counterpart. He was so cute. “Running late?”

“It’s on the third floor of the Cansdale building, clear on the other side of campus. And it's against the rules to cross the lawn to get there.” Ciel picked up a pile of books by the door. “Shit! I’ve got five minutes to make a ten-minute walk. Ugh! My lungs are so fucked!” Feeling weightless, Ciel began to run off. “It was nice meeting you, Trancy! Good luck this year!”

Before Alois could respond, Ciel ran out of the building, letting the large, wooden door slam behind him. Alois could only snicker. Though he was running late too, he cared little for being on time for class. As he turned to pick up his pile of textbooks, a realization dawned upon him.

_That little fucker ran off with my things!_


	6. Correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "However, I would urge you to exercise caution in where you keep your things. Such carelessness is highly inadvisable, especially in an environment like this. You are lucky that your school supplies landed in my capable hands, and not in the hands of a bully (who would not hold your privacy in the same regard that I would)."

_Alois Earl Trancy,_

 

_It has come to my attention that, in my discombobulated state, I absentmindedly ran off with your school supplies this morning. Likewise, I can only assume that my school supplies are in your safekeeping. Thus, we have a reason to meet again._

_Though not having my own notes and textbooks inconveniences me immensely, I must admit, my blunder does appear to have an upside. Truthfully, I would delight in seeing you once more. During my class this morning, I found it nearly impossible to focus on my studies. Merely feigning interest in my history professor’s dull lecture became quite a toilsome venture, for my mind kept circling back to your enchanting eyes and crooked smile. Indeed, it appears I have become quite smitten with you._

_I am fully aware of how foolish I must sound right now. We only met but hours ago, and already I’m helplessly in love with you? Fear not, for I am many things, but an idealist is not one of them. I cannot say I excel at understanding my own emotions, but I do know that what I’m experiencing is shallow infatuation, brought on by physical attraction. Tragically, I am only human._

_Indeed, I know practically nothing about you. I’m not even in on the rumors about you that are circulating throughout this school, for I care little for the trite friendships this school boasts itself upon. For all I know, you could be the biggest arsehole to walk this earth. As I’ve said before, my attraction to you is based on your skin-deep attributes. And yet, it persists._

_It’s quite possible that as you are reading this, you’re thinking of me as a madman. In the vast stretches of human existence, and amongst other species, an attraction between two males is not unheard of. However, in our society, this phenomenon is not openly accepted. I, personally, am already neck-deep in socially unacceptable practices (and “socially unacceptable” is the understatement of the century). Practices that someone like you couldn’t even_ begin _to fathom, even if I tried explaining my situation to you._

_However, based on your behavior this morning, I couldn’t help but notice that you hold a certain disregard for rules, tradition, and so-called "moral" behavior. (All ideals this godforsaken school holds in such high esteem.) Though I am in no position to outwardly display the same behavior that you do, I share in your opinion. Therefore, if my attraction to you is of little cause for concern for me, then this logic should hold true for you as well. With that in mind, can I interest you in a little rule-breaking?_

_I have a solution to both these dilemmas I face. I need my school supplies. Undoubtedly, you need yours. I would take great pleasure in getting to know you as a person, and even if you do not share my feelings, I would still enjoy your company in a platonic sense. What separates me from the other boys in this school is my lack of entitlement. Though I would be thoroughly crushed by a rejection from you, I promise not to react in childish anger or passive-aggression._

_All I ask in return is to please keep this private. I won’t be able to accomplish much in this school if my reputation is soiled (especially at the very beginning of the school year). And, despite my disdain for the values and cultish practices this school is built upon, I do have goals that hinge on my reputation here. Unfortunately, I can’t divulge much more than that. Sorry._

 

_With Respect,_

_Ciel Phantomhive_

           

Ciel frowned at the letter he had hastily scrawled out during his breakfast hour. _As if I would send such bile._ He thought. With a sigh, he folded it up and stuck it in the breast-pocket of his ill-fit jacket, fully intending on tearing it up and throwing it in the bin later. He opted to try again.

 

_Alois Earl Trancy,_

 

_It appears that, in the midst of my discombobulated state, I mistakenly took your school supplies this morning. Presumably, my own school supplies must be in your safekeeping, for they are no longer by the door of the headmaster’s office._

_I apologize for my inattention, and will take care to return them to you as soon as possible. However, I would urge you to exercise caution in where you keep your things. Such carelessness is highly inadvisable, especially in an environment like this. You are lucky that your school supplies landed in my capable hands, and not in the hands of a bully (who would not hold your privacy in the same regard that I would)._

 

Ciel’s eye drifted to the small pile of books that sat next to him on the bench. His inner detective seized his self-control, and he began to rummage through Alois’ school supplies in the way a predator would devour its prey. Sparsely filled notebooks, filled with more drawings (some obscene, though not half-bad) than actual notes. Some textbooks that had barely been touched—save for one, which had a large, square hole cut into the middle of its pages.

Inside the hole was a small glass bottle filled with an amber-colored liquid. Though it appeared to have a label at some point, it was long gone. Between its hidden storage in a textbook, and the lack of a label, Ciel had a strong suspicion that this bottle contained something against school rules. Feeling shaken and paranoid, he immediately slammed the book shut, hoping no one saw its contents.

_No, I can’t enable him. He might get caught. If he gets caught breaking too many rules, he may get expelled. I can’t have that._ Ciel reasoned.

His eye shifted from left to right, scanning for anyone who might be looking in his direction. As quickly as he put it away, he fetched the bottle out of its makeshift hole, and jammed it into his breast-pocket. Ciel then reassembled Alois’ things more or less in the way he had found them, and continued on his letter.

 

_Please inform me of the soonest date and time that you’re available, and we can meet then. Till then, take care._

_With respect,_

_Ciel Phantomhive._

 

Out of nowhere, a boy’s voice startled Ciel. It was McMillan—a prepubescent junior student with freckles, round spectacles, and a bubbly disposition. "Hey, Phantomhive! What are you working on?"

_Fucking hell, why must everyone at this blasted school_ sneak up _on me?_ Ciel thought as he gritted his teeth. He buried his annoyance and gave the bright-eyed student a polite smile. "I need to correspond with someone, so I’m writing a letter. Nothing exciting."

McMillian looked unsatisfied, but carried on. "Oh, okay."

A moment of awkward silence passed. As a junior student, McMillan’s friendship would serve no greater purpose for Ciel. Still, he had to start somewhere. Besides, there was something rather endearing about McMillan. His gentle and caring nature provoked memories of Ciel’s childhood—memories of one person in particular . . .

McMillan detected something brewing beneath Ciel’s surface, but neither knew nor wanted to know what it was. It seemed too personal, and he didn’t wish to pry. He adjusted his spectacles and changed the subject. "So, are you ready for fag time?"

Ciel took a bite of his breakfast. "Fag?"

******

No introductions. No warning. Not so much as a simple "Hello." Simply, "Fuck it. I don’t care. I don’t care about the rumors, and I don’t care what they think anymore. _You_ are a badass."

Alois looked up from his breakfast to see a boy with chin-length, light blonde hair that concealed most of his face. Judging by his posture, it was evident that he was not one of the more popular students.

Alois raised an eyebrow. Who was this guy? His mouth full of breakfast, the only inquiry he could make was, "Eh?"

The boy held his hand out to shake. "Joanne Harcourt. Second-year."

Alois swallowed his food and shook Harcourt’s hand. "Pleasure." he responded, unsure of what else to say.

In a rare spirit of courage, Harcourt chose not to mince words. "I was there when you were being initiated. All I can say is that I was . . . _impressed._ I mean, you didn’t cry or piss yourself or anything. You just thrashed around and cussed and it was _brilliant._ And then, when you drank out of the fox’s arsehole . . . I mean, you didn’t throw up or anything. You just took it like a man."

Alois, who was unaccustomed to compliments, blinked a few times. Was this real? "Thanks?" he responded.

Harcourt shifted in his seat a little. He didn’t have much of a game-plan for this interaction, beyond complimenting Alois. He lowered his voice. "Cole can be . . . kind of a twat. Especially to the underclassmen."

"I noticed." Alois concurred.

"I just . . . I don’t want to see you end up like so many of the other students that come through here. Not that I think you would, don’t get me wrong. I’m bloody scared of you. They say you killed a man."

Alois nearly fell out his chair, snorting and giggling hysterically, and pounding the breakfast table with his fist. _No wonder Claude didn’t want to tell me about the rumors! They’re_ phenomenal! _God, I_ live _for this shit!_

Harcourt chuckled uncomfortably. Alois’ reaction didn’t do much to disprove that rumor. Of course, how does one disprove such a rumor? _"_ _I didn’t kill a man,"_  sounds exactly like something a person who killed a man would say.

"Oh, that is _rich!"_ Alois clapped his hands like a seal. "Harcourt, you just made my day! No, my _lifetime!"_

Harcourt gave a tiny smile. It had been ages since he had made _anyone’s_ day, murderer or not. "Thanks." he responded softly.

Alois ran his fingers through his pale, golden hair, coming down from his bought of laughter. "Tell me, because no one else will, what else are they saying about me? I’m _dying_ to know."

Harcourt’s smile grew, pleased that he may have a friend on the precipice. "Certainly, but . . . are you going to eat that?" He motioned to Alois’ unfinished breakfast.

"Nah, I don’t like fried eggs. I find them rather pathetic, nakedly exposed for all eyes to see. Indeed, they almost look like eyes themselves. But they’ll never become eyes, or anything other than my breakfast. All that possibility wiped out by me." Alois pushed his plate towards his new acquaintance. "Have at it."

Harcourt raised an eyebrow. " _Eyes?"_

******

Alone in a dark, dusty basement with nothing but a lone candle to illuminate his highly flammable surroundings, Sebastian perused stacks upon stacks upon stacks of paperwork regarding the students of Weston College. After finding a file on Derek Clemens that revealed nothing other than he had been "transferred" (yes, in quotations) from Red House to Purple House, Sebastian was just about to take his investigation elsewhere, before another file caught his eye.

The new student, Alois Trancy. It was abnormally thick, and was carelessly laid out on a wobbly, cheaply made table that stood in the far corner of the student records library; as if it were asking to be found. Sebastian thought its placement suspicious, but curiosity outweighed any hesitation in the demon’s mind. He read it. And _oh my_ was it a read . . .

_"2/2/1889: Trancy exhibits an unconscious struggle between aggression and apathy. He is pulled in two directions between self-centeredness and self-sabotage, resulting from his repressed memories and emotions regarding the death of his father."_

 

_Death of his father? Ah, I wonder if he’s like my young master, and runs his own estate at such a young age._ Sebastian pondered.

 

_"31/3/1889: At around 8:30 A.M., Trancy attempted to assault Nurse Stout with a sharpened toothbrush, intending on gouging her eye out. Nurse Stout was rushed to the medical wing, where she was promptly treated for her injuries. Trancy has been transferred to solitary confinement, and remains under close supervision."_

_"15/4/1889: Trancy continues to project hostility, verbal abuse, and occasionally attempts physical abuse on staff. Close monitoring and continuation of treatment recommended."_

_"29/5/1889: Trancy has made significant breakthroughs in his therapy, and has displayed no physical aggression since the incident on the 31 st of March. Verbal aggression and hostility persists. Continuation of treatment recommended."_

 

Sebastian devoured this as if it were his young master’s soul. This was too good. _Way_ too good.

 

_"16/8/1889: Trancy exhibits behavior indicative of full rehabilitation, having displayed no aggressive behavior in three months. A hearing concerning Trancy’s release is scheduled for the 25 th of August. Additionally, a representative from Weston College will be present for this hearing to ascertain if Trancy qualifies for admission."_

 

Sebastian landed on the last page of the file, which was signed by a few psychiatrists and school administrators, giving Alois Trancy the go-ahead to attend school. One signature on the bottom caught Sebastian’s eye.

 

_Claude Faustus._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! Sorry I haven't posted in a minute. Midterms have been kicking my ass, but I'm going to try and update as regularly as possible, so bear with me.


	7. Discussions and Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My patience with you wears thin. You summoned me for no definitive purpose, and your current goal is one that I cannot accomplish. You did this knowingly to waste my time, and I cannot—will not accept this. Therefore, I will do everything within my power to make your flimsy desires a reality. And when our contract comes to a close, mark my words, I will be taking exactly what I want."

After hearing McMillan’s explanation of the ins and outs of fag time, Ciel decided to test his luck with his newfound acquaintance’s knowledge. He shifted in his seat, fiddling with his silverware. "This is a change of topic, but do you know the son of Duke Clemens, Derek Arden? Or the new student, Alois Trancy?"

The other students that were seated near the two at the breakfast table began to chatter nervously, having overheard Ciel’s inquiry.

McMillan gulped. He didn’t want to engage in nonconformity, but he didn’t want to risk losing a friendship with Ciel, either. "I believe they’re students of the Scarlet Fox dormitory." he responded. Seems neutral enough.

The whispers and glances in Ciel’s direction began to pick up amongst more of the students. Ciel began to feel a little self-conscious. "What is it?" he whispered to McMillan.

McMillan’s anxiety began to make an appearance. "Pha . . . Phantomhive!" he stuttered. "It doesn’t look too good if you’re too friendly with people from other dormitories!"

With each second that passed by since his enrollment, Ciel grew increasingly frustrated with this school. _What the fuck do you mean I can’t get_ friendly _with people from Scarlet Fox? I almost_ became _a member of Scarlet Fox! I’m a Phantomhive! I do as I please!_

Obviously, Ciel didn’t say exactly what was on his mind. He settled for the next best thing. "What? That sounds like the trivial rivalry of women." Inwardly, he wanted to giggle. _Lizzie would kick my arse if she heard me say that._

"The rivalling dormitories are always competing over something." A quizzical expression crossed McMillan’s face. "However, I do believe Derek Arden was transferred from Red House to Purple House on exception."

"Transferred?" Ciel’s eye had that same look of intensity it always had when he was in detective-mode. _Red House to Purple House? That’s odd. Clemens hardly seems the type for those pretentious art students._

"I don’t know the details, but the rumor is that the principal ordered it." McMillan’s anxiety increased. "Ah . . . A-Anyway, it’s best not stick your nose into other dormitories’ business. Especially Violet Wolf . . ."

McMillan’s warning did nothing but pique Ciel’s curiosity. "What do you mean—"

His question was interrupted by the voice of an upperclassman. "McMillan! It’s fag time!"

McMillian stood up, as if he were a solider standing at attention. "Yes!" He turned to face Ciel, striking a cutesy pose that vaguely resembled a salute. "This is my upper year!" McMillan motioned to an upperclassman with a forgettable appearance. "See you, Phantomhive!"

Ciel said nothing, but gave McMillan a befuddled look as he shuffled away, gleefully. _What’s with that pose?_ He thought.

Ciel’s attention turned back to their previous conversation. _But Derek’s dormitory was changed . . . There’s definitely something behind that. And he seemed to just glaze over the topic of Alois. Did he forget that I asked? Did he simply know nothing about him? Or did he not wish to talk about him? And if that’s the case, why?_

Ciel’s train of thought was interrupted by the voice of Clayton. "Phantomhive!"

"Clayton." he replied, hoping he didn’t come off as being too startled. (He did.)

"Until you’ve been assigned an upper-year, you’re on cleaning duty for the dining hall."

Ciel’s eye widened. "The dining hall . . ." He observed his surroundings, which felt more like an empty chasm now that the other students had left for fag time. No, not an empty chasm. A void, a black hole, that only consumed dirty dishes and silverware, soiled napkins, abandoned books, and other forgotten bits and bobs. "All . . . of this?"

"That’s right! Don’t slack off!" Clayton ordered as he made his exit.

Standing alone in the filthy dining hall, Ciel let out a deep sigh. It couldn’t be helped. "Sebastian, come here."

In the blink of an eye, Ciel’s demon appeared before him; his black robes swishing about majestically as he did so.

Not wanting to waste time, Ciel stated, "It seems Derek was transferred."

"When I checked, his name was on the register of Violet Wolf indeed."

"He should be at the dorm now. I’ll check it out so you can clean up here."

"Certainly." Sebastian gave his signature bow.

"Wait! Shit!" Ciel slapped his forehead. "I nearly forgot, I need to drop by Red House to send a letter. I managed to run off with the new student’s school supplies after signing in at the principal’s office."

"How did that go?" Sebastian inquired.

"Bloody waste of time. But I got to meet the new student, Alois Trancy. Oh, and that reminds me. A new student got in this school at the same time I did."

"I know, I saw his name on the register too. Furthermore, a new staff member is on payroll. It seems Scarlet Fox has a new dormitory warden." Sebastian’s expression grew dark. "Professor Claude Faustus."

Ciel picked up Alois’ school supplies from the bench, placing the letter meant for Alois’ eyes on top of the pile. His jacket, which was certainly a size too small for him, irked him as he cradled the pile in his arms, but he pressed on. "We need to divert some of our investigative time and resources to them. I have a sneaking suspicion that their arrival isn’t a coincidence." He double-checked his surroundings, making sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. "Alright, I’m off to Red House, then Purple House."

Sebastian’s gloved hand landed on Ciel’s shoulder, preventing him from leaving. "Master, why don’t I take care of mailing that letter for you?"

Ciel grew annoyed. "Because I need you here to clean up this dining hall. You’re a butler, remember? Cleaning is one of your many specialties."

Sebastian removed the pile from Ciel’s arms. "A butler can also mail a letter. Please, let me handle that. You need as much time as possible for your investigation."

Ciel gritted his teeth and furrowed his brow, unable to think of another rational argument against Sebastian’s suggestion besides, " _But, I want to deliver it myself so I can see Alois’ pretty face!"_ With a sigh, he conceded. "Very well, but don’t fuck it up."

Sebastian smirked as he let go of Ciel’s shoulder. "Have I ever fucked up before?"

Ciel began to make his exit. "A butler never swears!"

"My apologies." Sebastian responded in his usual, cordial manner. _Little bastard._ He thought.

******

Alois Trancy was ushered into the basement of one of the administration buildings with nothing but a lantern, Ciel’s school supplies, and scant explanation from Claude beyond, "Wait here." There was little in the way of furniture, beyond rows and rows of dusty filing cabinets that appeared to have been long forgotten. They stood beneath a network of rusty pipes that ran along the ceiling in intricate patterns. Closer inspection revealed an even more complex series of spiderwebs between the pipes. Perhaps they were the only living things that frequented this hole of a room.

"Claude, what the hell is this place?!" Alois demanded.

Claude was inconvenienced by Alois’ inquiry, but alas, the boy was his master. "Evaluation records. School policy dictates that at the end of each semester, students must fill in a 10-question evaluation of their professors. These evaluations are then brought to the administration, who record the overall results of said evaluations, summarize them, and send them to the professors. The original reports are then brought down here, and, in the likely event they’re not collected by the professors, remain here for the following eight years."

Alois snorted. "Claude, I should write a _scathing_ evaluation for you. See if you’ll lose your job."

Claude adjusted his spectacles. "These evaluations are merely for feedback. They have no bearing on the employment of the professors here. Actually, it’s my understanding that most of the professors here don’t even bother to read the final summary from administration."

Alois scratched his head in confusion. "So . . . the whole thing is just a bloody waste?"

Claude’s gazed scanned the forgotten corner of the world that he had deemed acceptable for his young master to wait in. "It appears that way, doesn’t it?"

What sounded like a groan of utter pain and misery emanated from the network of pipes fixed to the ceiling, which hung so low that Claude’s black hair gently grazed it.

Claude continued, "If you order me to do your fag time work for you, that is no issue. However, I can’t have you spotted doing goodness-knows-what elsewhere on campus while you’re _supposed_ to be doing fag time work. If you get caught idling around, it could ultimately lead to your expulsion from this school. And if you go, I’ve no choice but to come with you."

Alois rolled his eyes. "Right. They’ll send me home. Which is where I wanted to be in the first place."

Claude grew irritable. He grabbed Alois by the chin and gave him a look so intense it nearly burned into the fabric of the boy’s soul, like sunlight through a magnifying glass. "My patience with you wears thin. You summoned me for no definitive purpose, and your current goal is one that I cannot accomplish. You did this knowingly to waste my time, and I cannot— _will not_ accept this. Therefore, I will do _everything within my power_ to make your flimsy desires a reality. And when our contract comes to a close, mark my words, I will be taking _exactly_ what I want."

Alois said nothing, but felt anger brew in his chest and throat like boiling water.

"You will wait down here until I fetch you. You will not leave the premises, or the consequences will be severe. You will not wander off, speak to anyone, or cause any trouble."

Alois shoved Claude’s hand away. His touch felt like poison. "And what _can_ I do, _Professor_ Faustus? Can I breathe? Is that allowed, or would that inconvenience you too?"

Claude adjusted his spectacles for the six-hundred-sixty-six-millionth time. "I don’t care either way."

That sent the irrational teenager into a fury, though swinging his fists and jamming his knees into the heartless demon proved futile. Claude’s hand was on Alois’ forehead, pushing him back with ease.

"Bastard!" Alois cursed. It accomplished nothing.

"Do control yourself. This behavior at your age is shameful." Having said that, Claude gave his nettlesome young master a final shove into the basement, and slammed the door behind him. His heavy footsteps echoed as they ascended the spiral metal staircase that lead to the first floor of the administration building.

Alois landed on the floor between the lantern and Ciel’s school supplies. Alone in the dark, he had a good cry, unconcerned with the dirt that his uniform collected as he writhed around on the floor in a fit of tears.

_I wish I never summoned him. I wish the old man never found me. I wish Luka never died. I wish we never lived as street rats. I wish mum never died. I wish I had never been born . . ._

Time passed, though Alois was unaware of how much. His tears dried, and the lamentations that circled in his head like vultures grew as meaningless as an overused cliché. Depression gave way to exhaustion, though Alois didn’t have it in him to sleep. The blank, post-sorrowful feeling within him necessitated a distraction—but what? The only things down here were locked filing cabinets and Ciel’s school supplies.

A hollow chuckle escaped Alois’ lips. The _only_ things down there? As if there were nothing down here? Try that again. Like a treasure trove of games and puzzles (courtesy of the Funtom Company), Ciel’s school supplies presented itself as a welcome distraction from the inner turmoil of Alois Trancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry about the short filler chapter. Like I said, midterms have seriously been kicking my ass, and I've been hella stressed these days. Luckily, a few due dates have been moved back, so things aren't looking so bad right now. I definitely want to devote more time to this fic, and I've got tons of good stuff in store, so bear with me.


	8. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Say what you will about our relationship, but . . . it has made our lives much more interesting. And . . . in that way, much more bearable. Are you certain you want this to end once and for all?"

The unexpected rainfall moved the P4’s usual fag time meeting from the Swan Gazebo to their respective dormitories, where each prefect sipped tea and dined on sumptuous sweets, courtesy of their fags, alone in their private quarters. Thus, the Swan Gazebo stood empty, save for one being . . .

Alone in the Swan Gazebo was Claude Faustus, admiring a dewy spiderweb that hung adrift in a forgotten corner of the roof. As the spider lay in wait for unsuspecting victims to fall to its trap, Claude lay in wait for his own. The demon inhaled sharply. _He’ll be here any minute now._

Sebastian made his entrance into the gazebo with an umbrella in his hand, an expression of pure disdain on his face, and hell-fire in his eyes. Was skipping a greeting an oncoming trend at this school? "Faustus, I know nothing of your business at this school, but whatever it is, keep it away from—"        

Claude’s attention turned away from the spider-web as he interrupted his counterpart. "It’s lovely to see you too, _Sebastian_ Michaelis."

Sebastian folded his arms. He was not prone to emotions in the same way humans were, but old wounds were old wounds. And _oh_ how this one cut deep. He bit his lip, fighting his urge to spill out the millions of thoughts that swirled through his mind like an inferno. He was on the precipice of shedding his skin right then and there, allowing his true nature to express what words could not. Alas, he was on a short leash, and such things were frowned upon according to the demon aesthetic.

Claude was stone-faced. He was _always_ stone-faced. Indeed, emotions were an entirely different animal in the realm of demons, compared to those of humans. There were some emotions that were exclusive to humans, never to be fully understood by demons. Likewise, there were emotions only demons could experience, that humans—humans with their painfully short lifespans and tiny minds—could only dream of comprehending. Claude outwardly expressed none of them.

The silence between them spoke volumes. It was as wide and unwavering as the Atlantic. It embodied nostalgia and melancholy, boring empty chasms in their hearts that were as dark and devoid as the universe itself. After all this time, after all that occurred, what could possibly be said?

Claude adjusted his spectacles in his usual fashion.

_What a gimmick._ Sebastian internally mused; rose-colored nostalgia tearing into his heart like teeth sinking into prey. With a slow exhale, he removed his own spectacles—useless compared to Claude’s. Sebastian could never run the full mile in the way Claude could.

Claude broke the paradoxically painful yet healing silence. "I’m only hungry. That’s all."

Crimson eyes met their golden counterparts. "Are you?" Sebastian’s voice was drenched in skepticism. "You knew I would be here."

Claude didn’t have it in him to fabricate a half-truth. "Yes." He was as terse as ever.

Sebastian blinked a few times, contemplating his next move. "Why?"

Claude motioned to the array of lavish furniture that was arranged to the P4’s liking. "Won’t you sit?"

"Very well, but I’m short on time. Whatever this is, make it quick." Sebastian tossed his wet umbrella to the floor of the gazebo, and sat elegantly on a chaise lounge, opposite to an identical one that Claude sat on the edge of. "Well?" Impatience replaced skepticism in Sebastian’s voice.

Straightforward as ever, Claude cut the chase. "I have made a series of bad decisions."

Oh, Sebastian got a laugh out of that. A genuine one. Though the release was small, it felt good nonetheless. "Faustus . . . that’s it . . . that’s the entirety of your existence surmised in one sentence."

A short, sharp exhale that somewhat resembled laughter escaped Claude’s lips. "Perhaps."

A high-pitched sigh signaled the end of Sebastian’s bought of laughter. "What kind of bad decisions have brought you to me this time?" Before Claude could respond, Sebastian gave another chuckle, followed by, "Ah, that's not the first time I've asked you that question, is it?"

The tiniest smile warranted a hairline fracture in Claude’s flat affect. He loathed how weak he could get around Sebastian. Damn demon. Clearing his throat to collect himself, he responded. "Alois Trancy."

Sebastian asked the question that had been on his mind since his foray in the student records. "Your contractor?"

"Yes."

"Well then," Sebastian shifted in his seat a little. "he sounds delicious. I must say, it’s an interesting move on your part, dragging him to an asylum, followed by this school. What’s your angle?"

"I want to improve his mental health, and I want him to have an education, so that he’ll have a chance at a healthy, successful life."

Claude managed to outdo himself this time. The statement on bad decisions was funny, but this was downright side-splitting. Sebastian could no longer contain himself. "Oh, I’m so pleased! You’ve developed a sense of humor since we last met!"

Claude shared in none of Sebastian’s amusement. "I’m serious."

Sebastian leaned back in the chaise lounge and curled up into a little ball. “Faustus! Oh . . .  _oh_  that was good!” he crowed.

A genuine smirk materialized on Claude’s lips. "Not the first time I’ve heard that from you." He adjusted his spectacles for the umpteenth time. "Granted, you often said that under a different context."

"Oh, shut it." Sebastian cleared his throat, allowing his laughter to die down. "If you’ve come here for _that,_ you’re wasting your time."

"I can assure you, I did not."

The two demons took a few seconds to gaze at one another, enraptured. Eternity is so long, and, like a double helix, theirs was helplessly intertwined.

Sebastian flipped to his side, resting his head on his fist as he lay luxuriously on the chaise lounge. "I can’t tell if you’re starting to look like me, or if I’m starting to look like you."

"Perhaps both." Claude mused. "There are humans who claim that couples who have been together for long periods of time start to look like one another."

"Ah, but we are not human." Sebastian corrected his counterpart. "Nor are we a couple."

"Indeed. Now, back to the subject at hand . . ."

Sebastian rolled onto his back. "Why are you giving up your meal? Did you not say you were hungry?"

"I hunger for something more than the likes of Alois Trancy."

Sebastian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Leave it to Claude to get picky in his most ravenous state. "Alois Trancy is a good catch. He’s unstable, aggressive, and malleable, yet so pure. What’s not to love?"

"I want Ciel Phantomhive."

Sebastian sat straight up, his expression severe. "No."

"I thought so."

Sebastian stood and removed the white glove concealing his left hand, proudly displaying the pentacle etched on the back. " _Never,_ Faustus. Do you understand? I will _never_ allow you and the filth you bring about through betrayal to take what’s rightfully mine again."

Claude stood to level his gaze with Sebastian’s. "I’m not suggesting—"

"Have I not made myself obvious?" Sebastian’s crimson eyes flashed magenta. The blackness of the void began to envelop his form, as raven’s feathers drifted downward from scenic nowhere. "Or must I use _force?"_

For the first time, Claude reached out to touch Sebastian, grasping his wrist. "Do control yourself."

As if it never happened, as if Claude’s touch was magic (and it truly was), Sebastian was back to normal. He shuddered, feeling Claude’s grip on his wrist. It had been so long.

"Listen to me." Claude said in a low voice. "It won’t be like before, I swear it."

"How can I trust you?"

"All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say." Claude neared Sebastian from behind, his grip still tight on Sebastian’s wrist. His other hand wrapped around Sebastian’s torso, gently trailing his fingers down his chest. "I hear you’re the recent recipient of quite the gruesome scar, courtesy of a death scythe. Perhaps you’d grant me the privilege of seeing it some time . . ." Claude’s voice was low and husky.

Sebastian frowned. This was inconvenient. “I don’t have time for this.”

Claude pressed his nose into Sebastian’s shoulder, inhaling his scent. Countless memories flooded through his mind. How long had it been? How long had they known each other? Had it truly been eternity, or did it only feel like one?

"Very well, I have a proposition for you, if you would indulge me." Claude whispered.

Sebastian grew frustrated. He was in Claude’s clutches—the last place he desired to be. No, the last place he desired to be was _anywhere_ within Claude’s vicinity, let alone within his clutches. "Indulge you? Don’t make me laugh again. I’m not giving you my master, and that’s final."

"Won’t you listen? That’s all I ask of you."

"Only if you let me go this instant."

Claude obliged, and took a step back. Sebastian folded his arms as he remained standing, averting his gaze from his counterpart. "Make it quick."

"What is it that Ciel Phantomhive desires? Revenge, yes?"

"Yes."

"And how far along are you in accomplishing that?"

Sebastian hesitated. "That is between my master and I."

"So, I’m correct in assuming that you’re not far along at all?" Claude’s tone was cheeky. Well, as cheeky as someone like him would allow it.

Sebastian turned around and grimaced. "I never said—"

"What if I told you there was a way to . . . speed up the process?"

Sebastian remained quiet for a moment, pondering what Claude was implying. "Faustus, do you know something I don’t?"

"Perhaps, but concerning your master’s revenge, no I do not."

"Then what are you implying?" Sebastian held an expression of intensity.

Claude’s expression was equal to that of Sebastian. "We share a mutual goal of Ciel Phantomhive’s soul. I want out of my contract with Alois Trancy, and Ciel’s greatest desire is revenge. If you’ll cooperate with me, and if you’re interested in a little . . . competition, I have a solution to all these issues."

"I’m listening." Sebastian blinked slowly, like a cat.

"If I were to fabricate evidence that implicates Alois Trancy in the death of Ciel Phantomhive’s parents, and his kidnapping, that would make Alois the target of his revenge, would it not? You and I could work together to help Ciel Phantomhive realize that revenge—granted, under false pretenses, but what does that matter as long as it holds true in the eyes of Ciel Phantomhive?"

Sebastian smirked. "Sometimes, I forget how devious you can be."

Claude continued, "Once Ciel Phantomhive realizes his revenge, I propose that you and I fight to the death over his soul."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "To the death?"

Claude remained silent for a few seconds, mulling over his commitment to this proposal. "I can’t keep existing like this, Michaelis. So long as we both walk this earth, our fates will always be entangled. I can’t escape you, and you can’t escape me. This has gone on long enough, and . . . I’m tired."

Sebastian cleared his throat and smoothed out his robes. "Be it far from me to pass up an opportunity to kill you once and for all, but . . . I can’t trust you. You realize that, correct?"

"I know." Claude continued looking at the floor.

Sebastian picked up his umbrella and slowly began his exit. "Say what you will about our relationship, but . . . it has made our lives much more interesting. And . . . in that way, much more bearable. Are you certain you want this to end once and for all?"

Claude paused, eluding eye-contact with Sebastian. "Yes."

Sebastian looked down. "I’ll _think_ about it. Do you understand? By no means, does that translate into an acceptance of your proposal. Nor does it mean that I trust you. It means only that I’ll _think_ about it."

"When will you have an answer?"

Sebastian sighed. "Goodness, Faustus. Impatience doesn’t flatter you. Nor do those robes. Your figure is completely lost in them. I’ll have an answer when I’ll have an answer, and when that happens, I’ll find you. Understood?"

"Very well."

Sebastian was exhausted, and he had much work ahead of him. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, this conversation has been . . . stimulating, but I’ve a letter to mail, and far too much to accomplish before fag time is over." Before Claude could respond, Sebastian made his exit.

Claude’s gaze drifted from the floor to his former lover, who sauntered away without looking back; black robes trailing behind him regally in the crisp autumn air, and fallen orange leaves adrift in the post-rainfall breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the late update/lack of replies to comments and feedback. School is STILL kicking my ass, and on top of everything else, it's starting to affect my mental health. Even though I've significantly slowed down on writing (only because I've been too depressed to get out of bed these days), I've still got a few chapters for this fic queued up, so fret not. I've had a blast writing this fic, and I fully intend on keeping this going.


	9. Everything About this School is Fucked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Everything about this school is fucked. The students are fucked, the rules are fucked, the schedule is fucked. I mean . . . I can’t even cross the bloody lawn."

Being who he was, Sebastian effortlessly collected himself on the way back from his meeting with Claude. His demeanor was as tranquil and cordial as ever. Let it never be said that Sebastian Michaelis was a poor actor.

"Mr. Michaelis!" the voice of Clayton called out from the dining hall.

"What is it?" Sebastian responded playfully.

"Look at the dining hall! Phantomhive cleaned it up!" Beaming, Clayton patted a socially overwhelmed Ciel on the shoulder.

"My, my." Sebastian gave his rehearsed business smile. "Thank you for the hard work, Phantomhive." Only detectable to Ciel, his tone was filled to the brim with sarcasm.

Ciel feigned a smile, though his furrowed brows gave away more of his emotions that he realized. "No, thank you, Mr. Michaelis." He attempted to match Sebastian’s tone, but . . . Well, could anyone _truly_ match the level of polite sass that Sebastian conveyed with such talent?

As always, the wheels in Ciel’s head were turning arduously, and a sly expression helplessly appeared on his face. His attention was turned to Clayton, and assuredly, the young lord found a new pawn in his game.

"I’m glad you are pleased!" Ciel said to Clayton in the cutesiest voice he could muster. "Actually, I’m really very good at doing housework!"

Sebastian shut his eyes, forging an expression of serenity, when in truth, it was all he could do to keep from rolling his eyes. _I can only take so much more of this farce._

Ever the observant investigator, Ciel struck a similar pose to the semi-salute McMillan demonstrated earlier. Wearing his signature circus-performer smile, he exclaimed, "So if you’ve got anything, please, just ask, okay . . . Clayton!"

Sebastian had enough, and turned to leave for his office, expecting Ciel and a dozen other students to follow him like he was the pied piper. _Why can’t he be like that all the time?_ He mused.

******

"Rocks, Sebastian! Bloody rocks! What kind of animals . . ." Ciel huffed as he rubbed his forehead, sitting in the chair of Sebastian’s office. He considered removing his small, uncomfortable jacket, but he was too exasperated to do even that.

Sebastian was only halfway listening. He spent the late afternoon and evening assisting various overanalytical students of Sapphire Owl with their Latin homework, and he still had a lesson-plan to write. _So the investigation into Violet Wolf was unproductive. Why must my young master blither on about it as if it’s some great injustice?_

"'Why don’t you bring a big, fat dictionary to protect your head with next time, bookworm?' That’s _exactly_ what he said to me! As he and everyone else in Violet Wolf threw _rocks_ at me! It was barbaric!" Ciel huffed as he slouched in Sebastian’s chair, resting his forehead in his hand.

"That sounds awful." Sebastian responded insincerely. "Young Master, I have a lesson plan I must finish. May I trouble you to—"

"I think he cuts his own hair. Cheslock, the prefect’s fag. I don’t know what he does to it, but . . . he looks bloody bizarre. I don’t understand . . ." Too exhausted to finish his sentence, Ciel let out a sigh instead. "Right. Your chair. Give me a minute."

"That’s very kind of you, Young Master. Take your time."

Ciel indiscriminately tore off the surgical eyepatch he wore that day and tossed it to the floor, rubbing both of his eyes with his other hand. The release of tension felt nice, but he needed to do so verbally as well. "I don’t know what’s going on, Sebastian, but . . . I want to go home. Everything about this school is fucked. The students are fucked, the rules are fucked, the schedule is fucked. I mean . . . I can’t even cross the bloody _lawn._ What kind of . . ." Ciel couldn’t choose a direction to go with his rant, so he settled for a classic, teenage, "Ugh!"

Before Sebastian could give another insincere response of sympathy, Ciel stood and relinquished the chair. While Sebastian began his work, Ciel yawned, stretching his arms out as far as he could.

_Pop!_ A small tear formed in the stitching of Ciel’s jacket, where the sleeve met the shoulder.

"Blast!" Ciel groaned. He pushed the jacket off his shoulders and plopped it on Sebastian’s desk, right on top of his lesson plan. "Sebastian, I order you to fix that. I’ll get a Y if I get caught with a uniform violation."

Sebastian was completely motionless, save for a few blinks of his crimson eyes. He was about to scribble out something regarding the chapter one review for his class, but Ciel’s jacket lay unceremoniously across his work.

"Very well, Young Master. You’re a growing boy, it appears."

Ciel sat on the edge of Sebastian’s desk with his arms folded and his eyes to the floor. The hour was getting late, and the young lord grew more vexing with each second that passed—seconds that he should be spending in bed, asleep. "Your fault for ordering me a uniform that’s too small." he muttered.

Sebastian was in no mood to argue. He picked up Ciel’s jacket, noticing it’s unusual weight. _Goodness, did one of the rocks thrown by Purple House land in his pocket? What on earth is that?_ Without even thinking, Sebastian rummaged through the pockets of the jacket until he found the item in question . . .

"Young Master!" Sebastian sounded legitimately scandalized—a rare tone from the demon. "What is this in your pocket?!"

Ciel jumped, feeling every system in his body come to a complete halt as he yelped, "Gah!"  _Shit! I forgot about that letter! "_ Sebastian, don’t!" Ciel pleaded in a panicked voice as he looked at his demon with eyes of desperation.

"I’m extraordinarily disappointed in you! Have I not taught you better?" Sebastian lectured.

Ciel’s heart raced until his gaze shot to what was in Sebastian’s hand. "Don’t . . . Oh, it’s only the bottle of . . . whatever . . . probably alcohol. Never mind." Ciel let out a long breath of relief, as his system began to function again.

Sebastian’s mouth hung open. _Only the bottle of probably alcohol? "_ Young Master, I cannot allow this! What has gotten into you?!"

"I took it from Alois Trancy, when I found it amongst his things. That’s all."

The demon’s expression was incredulous. "You’re not concerned about getting caught with _this?"_

"No . . . it’s not mine." Ciel replied, suddenly aware of his shortsightedness. What would he have done if he got caught with that? That was one consequence that didn’t occur to him after he confiscated Alois’ bottle.

Sebastian’s expression went from incredulity to suspicion. "If it’s not the bottle you’re concerned about . . ." he began, piecing two and two together out loud. "What else are you hiding in here that you don’t want me to see?"

Ciel said nothing. His mismatching eyes widened as he bit the inside of his cheek. Fight-or-flight kicked in, but neither were an option in the presence of Sebastian. "Give it back!" he barked. "Give me back my jacket at once!"

Sebastian began to derive some enjoyment from this. What could his contractor possibly be hiding from him? "But . . . My Lord, did you not order me to fix your jacket? If I remember hearing you correctly, you said you would get a Y for a uniform violation." He narrowed his gaze as it shifted to the glass bottle full of amber-colored liquid. "I ought to give you a Y for _that."_

"S-Sebastian!" Ciel stuttered, feeling a telltale droplet of sweat on his forehead. The young master was cornered by his own butler. As always in times of trouble, he gave an order. "I order you not to go rummaging through my pockets!"

Sebastian bore a look of neutrality upon his face. Did he win this game or lose? "As you wish, Young Master."

Ciel smoothed out his trousers, which accomplished nothing except for giving the young lord the illusion of control. "I’m going to bed. Fix that jacket by morning, and we’ll continue our investigation."

Sebastian couldn’t resist the urge to knock his young master off his high horse. "Shall I tuck you into bed?"

Ciel flashed his butler a V-sign with his palms facing inward and a look of utter vitriol before exiting the office. He had a bad day.

Sebastian sat at his desk with a torn jacket, a conspicuous bottle that appeared to contain alcohol, and an unfinished lesson plan before him. He was somewhere between laughter and tearing his raven hair out. The young master loved his games, and would make one hell of a feast. The adolescent was a nuisance.

Suddenly, the corner of his mouth rose. This game was not over, for the demon found victory on the horizon. He mused aloud, "My Young Master ordered me not to go rummaging through his pockets . . . but . . ." Sebastian took the jacket and held it upside-down, allowing a folded sheet of paper to helplessly fall to the floor, exposed. " _Certainly,_ if something were to _fall_ from his pockets, he would wish for me to pick it up, no?"

Sebastian tossed the jacket back onto the desk and picked up the fallen piece of paper. As he read through its contents, he took a defiant sip from the bottle—though alcohol had almost no effect on the demon.

"Oh . . . _Oh!"_ Sebastian exclaimed in absolute astonishment, wiping his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry this update is a little late and that this chapter is kind of short. (But hey, it contains sassy Sebastian, so it's not all bad.) The past two weeks for me have been nothing but midterms and dealing with mental health issues. I'm doing a little better now that I'm done with midterms and seeing a therapist. I REALLY missed being able to work on fanfiction all the time, and now that I've got a little break from schoolwork, I'll be able to do that.


	10. Bad Influences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If Alois Trancy is a psychopath because he does exceptional work during fag time for personal gain, then so is Ciel Phantomhive. In fact, if we assume all fags work diligently for personal gain, would that make all fags psychopaths?"

_Ciel Phantomhive,_

_Listen, if you wanted booze, all you had to do was ask. I went through a lot of trouble stealing that from Dr. Krause’s desk, and . . . Well, if I’m going to get in trouble for something, I’d rather be able to enjoy the rewards beforehand._

_But, by all means, I do hope you and your mates in Blue House enjoy whatever it is Dr. Krause was hiding in his desk. I didn’t even get the chance to try it before you stole it away from me. At least indulge me and tell me what’s in that bottle._

_Don’t get sick. Drink plenty of water. Don’t get caught. Don’t get_ me _in trouble._

_Frankly, I think you’re too innocent and adorable to get yourself wrapped up in this sort of thing, but to each his own, I suppose. I know how this all goes. You bookworms and intellectual-types get so bored with your humdrum lives, until you snap and do something rash. In a way, I respect that. Just be careful, is all I ask._

_Sincerely,_

_Alois Trancy_

_P.S. Burn this letter after you read it. If you use this as evidence against me, as sure as my name, I will kill you where you stand._

_P.P.S. Quick question (and I feel entitled to this information, since you ran off with my bottle that I rightfully stole)—who is Derek Clemens? And why do you have pages and pages of notes on the fellow?_

_P.P.P.S. Can I borrow your algebra notes this week? Professor Murdstone’s lectures bore me, as does the textbook, but the way you write things out make sense to me._

******

The P4 lounged about in the Swan Gazebo luxuriously while their fags attended to them like servants—more so out of a desire for a taste of the lavish life of a prefect than out of genuine loyalty. Not that it mattered to the P4, or to anyone else, for that matter.

With a voice gentle enough to soothe an infant, Maurice Cole inquired, “Redmond, would you like another cup of tea?”

Edgar Redmond, who was splayed on a chaise lounge like the living definition of affluence, smiled and responded, “Yes, why not. Your tea is the best, Maurice.”

Cole displayed an expression of charm and gratitude. “Ah, thank you.”

Herman Greenhill, who was lifting weights (mostly to busy himself in these awkward get-togethers, rather than to exercise), chimed in. “How are the new students? I heard they’re quite capable.”

Redmond glanced at Lawrence Bluer, who sat adjacent to him with his nose in a book (not really reading, but merely shielding himself from the distraction on the chaise lounge), with a look of fondness. Using the exact words to press the straight-laced prefect’s buttons, Redmond said, “Ah, yes . . . like that cutie pie in Lawrence’s dorm. I’m curious too.”

Bluer took a second to contemplate whether he should start with “cutie pie” or “Lawrence.” He chose the term that caused him more distress. “Stop calling me by my first name, it’s against the rules.”

Redmond waved his hand in dismissal. “You’re so strict, Bluer. Only prefects can come here, no one is going to punish us.”

Bluer grew tense as he pretended to turn his attention to his book—the one that he had been on page 75 of for the past hour—the same hour that was spent in such close proximity to Edgar Redmond and his long legs and silky hair. _Always one to play your cards close to the chest, aren’t you, Edgar?_ He thought.

Redmond continued, turning his inquiry on Bluer’s fag. “Clayton, what do you think about that boy?”

“Which one?”

Redmond shrugged. “Either one, but I was asking about the one in Lawrence’s dorm.”

Bluer’s eyes shot daggers at Redmond. _You are acting_ far _too casual for comfort in public._

Redmond gave a sly grin. _Does it bother you when I use your first name outside of our usual rendezvous?_

Clayton, oblivious to the wordless exchange happening before him, scratched his chin. “He’s extremely skilled. He works fast and carefully. Actually, the tea and snacks I asked him to prepare look like something made by a French chef.”

An expression of discomfort crossed Cole’s face.

Greenhill was the first to verbalize his skepticism. “Wasn’t he an earl? How come he can do that?”

“He said it’s like a hobby to him . . .” Clayton answered, suddenly aware of how odd that is.

Cheslock was also in a state of disbelief. “An earl that works like a butler . . .”

Sitting cross-legged as he mixed a few mysterious concoctions into a bowl, Violet added on, “What a weirdo.” Ever the one to state the unexpected, of course.

“In speaking of weirdos,” Greenhill quipped. “Redmond, how’s the new one in your dorm holding up?”

Redmond broke his gaze from the object of his affection to meet Greenhill’s. “Oh . . . you know . . . not bad, I suppose.”

Greenhill raised an eyebrow. “You’re not keeping tabs on your new student?”

“I would.” Violet added on. “Especially _that one.”_

Redmond gave a casual chuckle. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re buying into those rumors, are you? I’m disappointed.”

Bluer shifted uncomfortably, fully aware of what he was caught between. Endeavoring to come off as neutral as possible, he said, “Much of what has been said about Alois Trancy has yet to be proven one way or another.”

“He was seen walking out of the school psychiatrist’s office.” Greenhill stated brusquely.

“And we all know that he came to this school straight from an asylum, let’s be honest.” Violet added on.

“What, and the students of Purple House don’t act as if they belong in one?” Redmond fired back.

“I’m only saying it’s something you ought to be concerned about. I’m not insinuating anything else by it.” Violet responded as his gaze helplessly switched from Redmond to Cole, fully aware of their history.

Maurice Cole was staring at the ground, feeling a distinct tightness in his chest. For someone who idolized the P4, he suddenly wished to be anywhere other than the Swan Gazebo.

Redmond continued, defensiveness apparent in his voice. “Listen, Alois Trancy is a brother of Scarlet Fox, just like any other student in my dorm. I don’t believe he deserves any mistreatment based on what happened to him before he came to this school, and none of you are in a position to judge him.”

Cheslock came to Violet’s defense. “No one’s saying we’re _judging_ him, Redmond. If anything, you should be concerned for _his_ sake, y’know?”

Bluer’s gaze remained fixed to his book, feeling anything but envious of Redmond. _At least Phantomhive is a well-behaved student and a decent fag. I don’t know what I would do if I had someone like Trancy in my dorm . . . Wait a minute . . . Yes, I do . . ._

“Why not invite the new students here?” Bluer’s gaze never lifted from his book, which he was still on page 75 of. “Phantomhive _and_ Trancy. Granted, they’re from different dorms, but . . . Phantomhive might be a good influence on Trancy.”

“Or Trancy might be a bad influence on Phantomhive.” Clayton remarked, immediately cringing internally at contradicting his senior (though the act went unnoticed).

Redmond’s face lit up. “That’s not a bad idea, Lawrence. As prefects, it’s our job to give our underlings guidance anyway. We should have already invited them here, now that you mention it.”

Cole’s expression grew despondent.

Bluer frowned. “You’re hopeless, Redmond. But yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Beyond that, if Phantomhive truly derives some masochistic enjoyment from working like a butler, perhaps Trancy could learn a thing or two from him.”

“Actually,” Redmond began. “I hear Trancy is a terrific fag! I’m amazed that Cole here hasn’t snatched him up already. If he’s not careful, _I_ might! Besides, I’m tired of the dull faces I see every day.”

Cole genuinely felt sick to his stomach. This was fucking awful.

“I read somewhere that psychopaths are master manipulators who will stoop to any level for their personal gain. How do we know that Trancy’s exceptional skill doesn’t stem from his own desire for such a thing?” Violet inquired.

“Goodness, Violet!” Bluer’s gaze lifted from his book to reveal a false expression of shock. “You can _read?”_

Redmond got a laugh out of that.

“He’s got a point.” Greenhill added in Violet’s defense. “How do we know we’re not about to invite a violent psychopath into our group?”

Bluer adjusted his spectacles. “Well, using your logic, Phantomhive would be considered a psychopath too, would he not?”

A new voice emanated from the gazebo. “Greenhill, can I speak?”

Greenhill turned to its source. “I can’t hear you! Say it louder!”

“Yessir! Do you allow me to speak?!”

“Fine! I allow you to speak, Edward Midford!”

“Thank you very much!” Edward responded. “Ciel Phantomhive is my cousin and Lizzy’s . . . well . . . my younger sister’s fiancé. I’m strict with him because he’s my relative, but I respect him as a man for the way he is able to manage his household at such a young age. I think he would be a fine influence on this Trancy fellow.”

“See? His cousin vouches for him. That’s good enough for me.” Redmond said.

Bluer blinked a few times, unsatisfied. “I wasn’t speaking about personal vouchers, I was merely speaking of _logic._ If Alois Trancy is a psychopath because he does exceptional work during fag time for personal gain, then so is Ciel Phantomhive. In fact, if we assume _all_ fags work diligently for personal gain, would that make _all_ fags psychopaths?”

Clayton, who had been rather quiet throughout this exchange, blanched. “Am I a psychopath?”

Redmond raised an eyebrow and seized the opportunity. “Wait a minute, Lawrence. What makes you so certain that _all_ fags work for personal gain? What of the brotherly relationships that our school is built on?”

Bluer rolled his eyes. “Oh, you don’t _really_ believe such a relationship—such a _hierarchy_ could be based on pure altruism, do you? Redmond, _please._ Don’t act so naïve.”

Violet’s eyes shifted back and forth from Redmond to Cole, who looked utterly forlorn. Bluer’s logic began to make sense.

Redmond continued his argument. “Perhaps, but I think it’s unfair to say that _all_ fags work for personal gain. Besides, it’s really the upperclassmen who _gain_ anything from the brotherly relationship.”

“No, the fags gain elevation in social ladder, allowing them to get closer to the top, where we sit. And I wasn’t trying to argue that all fags work for personal gain, I was simply pointing out the flaws in Greenhill and Violet’s logic! If everyone who works for personal gain is a psychopath, as they said, and all fags work for personal gain, then all fags are psychopaths.”

“Yes, but it’s too much of a generalization to say that _all_ fags work for personal g—”

“You people are giving me a headache!” Greenhill roared.

Bluer pursed his lips, displeased by the interruption, but not passionate enough about the argument itself to continue pursuing it.

“Right.” Redmond lifted a hand to his forehead and gave a small chuckle. “What on earth were we talking about in the first place?”

“Alois Trancy.” Violet said with an annoyed sigh. “Are we inviting him here or not?”

“And Ciel Phantomhive.” Edward tacked on. He cleared his throat. “My cousin.”

“Ah, yes! Any objections to tomorrow at 2:00 p.m.?” Redmond asked the group. “No? Excellent! Cole, why don’t you relay the invitation to Trancy?”

Cole covered up his misgivings with a mask of civility and a shrewd idea. “Good things should be done quickly. I can tell them both myself! Tomorrow at 2:00, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, I may or may not lowkey ship Bluer x Redmond. Just a little.


	11. Poor Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ciel felt a droplet of sweat roll down his forehead. How did he get here? Wasn’t he supposed to be investigating the disappearance of Derek Clemens? How did he end up in a forgotten basement with his fingers trapped inside the mouth of a ridiculously attractive lunatic?"

What happened? One minute, it was 3:59 p.m. and Ciel Phantomhive—with a newly mended jacket and a delightful picnic basket full of exquisitely made sweets (courtesy of Sebastian)—was fully prepared to charm the socks off the P4. The next minute, it was 4:00 p.m. and the young lord was greeted with nothing but hostility from the P4 and their fags.

“How could you be two hours late, Phantomhive?!” Clayton barked. “And where is Trancy?!”

“Trancy? He was invited too?” Ciel felt a sense of insecurity befall him in the face of sudden conflict. Certainly his memory wasn’t going by the wayside, was it? “I-I was told that it was at 4:00 . . .”

Maurice Cole spoke up. “Eh? I said it right. 2:00 p.m.”

Before Ciel could meekly defend himself further, a familiar voice spoke up. “It’s disgraceful to lie now.”

“Edward?!” Ciel was alarmed by his cousin’s presence. _I knew that he was attending this school, but . . . not that he was a prefect’s fag!_

Edward was thoroughly pissed off. “I was an idiot for trusting you. And to think, I helped vouch for you and everything. I thought you would be a good influence on Trancy!”

Though countless defenses rapidly pumped through Ciel’s mind as blood rapidly pumped through his heart, the only syllable the young lord could utter was, “Eh?”

One moment of eye-contact with a smug-looking Maurice Cole said everything.

Edward’s fury and shame became increasingly apparent on his face. “You . . . you disappointed me and the seniors! Get out!”

Having no other option, Ciel did just that, and stormed away from the elegant gazebo in mortification and ire. _Shit! He tricked me!_

******

  _Ciel Phantomhive is meeting with the P4 this afternoon. Did you hear about Ciel Phantomhive? He’s meeting with the P4 at the Swan Gazebo this afternoon. Guess who got invited to the Swan Gazebo by none other than the P4? Ciel Phantomhive!_ It was all Alois heard about that day—every second of conversation amongst the students of Weston College devoted to speculating over Ciel Phantomhive’s invitation to the Swan Gazebo by the P4. _Oh, you need to send a letter to Ciel Phantomhive? He’s at the Swan Gazebo with the P4 right now._

So, very well. Letter in hand and determination in heart, Alois Trancy set forth on his journey to the Swan Gazebo. P4 be damned, he was getting his booze back. If it cost Ciel Phantomhive his social standing, so be it. _It’s what he deserves for stealing from me,_ Alois reasoned.

Ah, but who is this on the horizon? A one-eyed teenage boy—wearing a clean-cut uniform and a scowl on his face—neared Alois. In his hand was a winsome picnic basket, which (to Alois’ chagrin) softened the golden-haired boy’s irksome mood. _Fuck, that’s undeniably charming_.

“Ciel Phantomhive?” Alois said, unsure of how to greet his ill-tempered counterpart. _You bloody thief!_ Or, _what’s troubling you, cute boy?_

“You! Trancy!” Ciel called out as he pointed to his blonde counterpart. “Where the hell were you?!”

Well, that certainly came out of left-field. “Um . . . here . . . on campus. I attend school here, after all. Where else would I be?” Alois wasn’t ready to tell Ciel that he regularly spent fag time in a neglected corner of the universe with nothing but locked file cabinets, spiders, and his own imagination.

“Four o’clock, no? Did Cole not say four o’clock?” Ciel folded his arms.

Alois was stupefied by the irate boy before him. _How could someone so adorable . . . holding such a cute little picnic basket . . . be so pissed off?_

“Are you not going to answer me?!” Ciel bellowed. His tone was starting to attract onlookers.

“I . . . Cole said nothing to me! I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, honest!” Alois raised his hands up in his defense. “What happened?”

Ciel’s demeanor changed. His breathing grew heavy, and his scowl turned into sudden calm. Either he just had a realization, or he was transported to a new plane of existence—one that would enable him to rationalize punching Alois square in the nose (or at least to try). Luckily for Alois, the former held true. “He didn’t invite you, did he?”

Alois’ face twisted in befuddlement. “Invite me where? Who?”

“Maurice Cole. He invited me to the Swan Gazebo yesterday, and told me you’d be coming along too.”

“What?!” Alois exclaimed. “He said nothing of the sort to me. In fact, he said nothing to me period. Believe me, I’ve been avoiding him since . . . Well, it’s no matter. My point is that he’s a bit . . .” Alois took a second to find the right words. Frightening? Unhinged? “. . . of an arsehole.”

Ciel blinked a few times. “He tricked us. He tricked us both.”

Alois raised an eyebrow. “What’d he do to _you?”_

“Four p.m. I specifically remember him saying four p.m., but . . . apparently the meeting was actually set for two p.m.” Ciel groaned out loud. “Ugh! This is why I hate verbal promises!”

“You think he did it on purpose?” Alois asked.

“Do you?”

“Hell yes. Bastard’s a bloody lunatic. _I_ should know, of course.” Alois ran his hand through his golden-blonde hair and rested the other on his hip. The joke went completely over Ciel’s head.

Ciel gulped, trying not to allow Alois’ allure to distract him from his rage. _Focus on the investigation!_ He chided himself. “What makes you say that?”

Alois examined his surroundings, suddenly aware of the handful of onlookers he and Ciel attracted. “Ah, shit. This’ll no doubt be the subject of gossip later on. Why don’t we go someplace private to talk?” He grabbed the crook of Ciel’s arm, urging him in a new direction.

 _Oh, god. He’s touching me._ Ciel looked around too, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Um . . . okay . . . but where?”

A mischievous smile appeared on Alois’ face. “That depends. First of all,” he motioned to the picnic basket. “whatever’s in there, are you planning on eating that by yourself? And second of all,” he lowered his voice and leaned in close to Ciel, so that their faces were inches apart—causing Ciel to blush. “do you or do you not have that bottle?”

******

The passage of time was but an illusion in the rusty, cobweb-filled hole in the ground that Claude designated as Alois’ impromptu time-out corner. The movement of the earth in relation to the sun was irrelevant down here. Hours and minutes were one and the same. Nothing mattered.

Underneath that groaning, low-hanging network of pipes was a lantern, a now-empty picnic basket, a bottle full of mysterious amber-colored liquid, and two spurned teenage boys—who were in the midst of a thorough shit-talking session on Maurice Cole.

“Granted, I don’t know him like you do, but . . . I would never pin him as the type to nearly taxidermy another human being.” Ciel said with a hint of incredulity in his voice. “Then again, that probably means he’s quite the successful sociopath, if even _I_ can’t pin him down.” he mused with a hint of arrogance in his voice, more so to himself rather than Alois.

“That’s it exactly. People look at him and only see the handsomest bloke in school, the prefect’s fag. No one would ever suspect him of being such a lying jailbird. I mean, have you seen his hands?” Alois said with his mouth full of the last of his sweets. “The school’s fags all have rough hands from doing the upperclassmen’s chores. But Maurice’s hands are pearly white.”

“He’s using some dirty methods, then?” Ciel inquired.

“I can’t prove it, but I can assure you, he is. Though that’s the least of my worries.” Changing the subject, Alois remarked, “You know, I don’t really go much for fancy foods, but . . . I could get used to this.” He then licked chocolate off his fingers a little _too_ slowly.

Ciel blushed and looked away. _NO! NO! NO!_ “I’m . . . pleased you like them.”

Alois switched to yet another topic in the blink of an eye. “So why’d you steal from me, Ciel?”

Well, that came out of almost nowhere, though the subject coming up sooner or later was inevitable. “I . . . I thought you were going to get in trouble, and I didn’t want to see you get expelled.” Ciel’s gaze was fixed on the lantern, resisting the temptation to look at Alois again. _What I want to know is . . . why did Sebastian put it_ back _in my pocket?_

Ciel bit the inside of his cheek as a more pressing issue came to mind. _And where the hell did that letter go?!_ He slammed his eye shut, attempting to purge the anxiety-inducing thought from his mind. At least it was only Sebastian who most likely had it, and not a fellow student. Perhaps Ciel could lie his way out of this one, and tell Sebastian that it was a creative writing assignment . . . about a real-life student . . . signed with his own name . . . _Ugh, he’ll never let me live it down._

Alois responded, “That’s nice, but . . . why do you care? Haven’t you heard? I’m a _lunatic.”_ He lay flat on his back, gazing at the intricacies of the pipes above, which formed new and interesting shapes in the shadows of the lantern.

Ciel’s curiosity was piqued, which he read as dangerous in congruence with his undeniable attraction to Alois. But, with nothing to lose, he soldiered on. “A lunatic, eh? Why do they say that?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard? I was spotted coming out of Dr. Krause’s office on the first day of school, and that was enough to seal the deal for most people.”

“Dr. Krause?” Ciel inquired, his mouth full of cake.

Alois was legitimately astonished. “You seriously haven’t heard? Dr. Krause is the new school psychiatrist. Previously, he worked at Karnstein, with the criminally insane. Apparently, that’s his specialty or whatever. Clumsy motherfucker, by the way.”

“Seems fitting that he’s come here, then, if he worked with the criminally insane.” Ciel quipped.

A small chuckle escaped Alois’ lips. “He also specializes in drinking on the job, apparently.” His gaze moved from the ceiling to the glass bottle between them. “Shall we see what it is he keeps in there?”

Ciel nudged the bottle away from Alois’ reach. “Let’s not. Why were you seeing the psychiatrist?”

Alois rolled over on his stomach and pushed himself closer to the bottle. “Why do you want to know?”

Ciel shrugged. “I’m curious. Besides, I’ve ruined any chance I had at making friends in this blasted school. Who would I tell?”

Alois grabbed the bottle and sat up straight, intent on finding out its contents once and for all. “Claude Faustus.” Alois unscrewed the cap off the bottle. “That’s why I had to see a psychiatrist, and that’s why I’m here now. He’s literally a demon, Ciel.”

Ciel raised his eyebrow. _Literally a demon, eh? I doubt he knows what he’s talking about._ “Professor Faustus, you mean?”

“Ha!” Alois laughed out loud. “Professor my arse! Claude’s an imposter, though he won’t tell me why he’s going through with this farce, other than ‘for my own benefit.’” Alois took a sip of the bottle, followed by an expression of total revulsion. “Oh, fuck!”

“What is it?”

“Cod liver oil!”

It started off small. A tiny smile, cracking Ciel’s resting expression of cold detachment. A few chuckles, which turned into a few more chuckles. The more Ciel tried to fight it, the more hilarious the situation got. It was only a matter of seconds before a “Pfft!” escaped his lips and Ciel was in a rare fit of hysterics.

Alois wiped his mouth. “Oh, that’s rich! I go through all that trouble to steal it out of Dr. Krause’s desk, only to find out that he’s _not_ an alcoholic—he’s simply willing to torment himself for vitamins. Either that, or he uses this to punish unruly students. In which case, well played on his part.”

“You and I have been smuggling bloody cod liver oil across campus this whole time!” Ciel crowed. “I was so nervous, carrying that around in my pocket all day!” His fit of laughter soon turned into a fit of coughing.

“Are you alright?” Alois screwed the cap back onto the bottle, still reeling from the awful experience he had a minute ago.

“I have asthma.” Ciel weakly muttered through gasps and coughs. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. This happens all the time.”

“Bloody hell! Probably a bad idea then, bringing you down to this dusty old basement. It can’t be good for you down here.”

“I’ll be okay down here. I’ve survived much worse.”

“Okay, excuse me for a second.” Alois whipped his head in the opposite direction of Ciel and spat. Truly, it was impressive. He got some decent range out of that one.

As Ciel came down from his bought of laughter-induced coughs (perhaps it had been so long since he last laughed, that his body assumed it was an illness), he gave Alois a look of incredulity. _Okay, he’s definitely not legitimate nobility. There’s no way. Perhaps there was some kind of loophole, or he’s new money. I’m certain there’s a rational explanation as to why he’s . . . like that, but . . . I can’t quite figure him out . . . Fuck! Why must he be gorgeous_ and _intriguing?!_

Alois wiped his mouth again. “Oh, fuck. That was foul. I need something to get the taste out of my mouth. Are there any sweets left?”

“I’m afraid not. I was just about to lick this chocolate off my finger . . .” Ciel’s eye widened upon the realization of what salacious actions he had just opened himself up to. Of course, perhaps some unconscious desire prompted him to say that, but he wasn’t in the mood to acknowledge that right now.

Alois smirked. “Be a good lad?”

“Alois Earl Trancy!” Ciel exclaimed, scandalized. “You can’t be serious!”

Alois made a puppy-dog face at Ciel. “You’d allow a poor lunatic like myself to go about his day with the taste of cod liver oil in his mouth? You’re quite the sadist.”

Ciel bit his lip. He was torn between _‘This is improper and unbecoming of someone of my stature and_ wrong _on so many levels,’_ and _‘Yes, god,_ please _put your lips on me I would love that more than words could say.’_

 _“Please?”_ Alois begged, inching closer to Ciel. Watching the one-eyed boy squirm and blush gave him a curious sense of satisfaction.

“I . . . I . . .” Ciel stuttered. _Think of something! Anything! Quick!_ “I’ll do it for a price.” he weakly asserted.

“Okay, name your price. You’re on.” A smirk materialized on Alois’ face as he watched relief come over Ciel for a split-second, followed by another bought of bashfulness. This was way too much fun.

Ciel’s cheeks went from a rosy pink to a bright shade of scarlet. _Shit! What’s my price? Think, Phantomhive, think!_ “Uh . . . information . . .” Ah yes, information. What a typical demand from the young investigator.

Alois raised an eyebrow. “On what?”

“Um . . .” Ciel scoured his brain, trudging through questions and curiosity to find something suitable for the here and now. “Who are you to Professor Faustus? And why are you at this school?”

Alois looked something between being disappointed and inconvenienced. “And here I thought you were about to ask me something ridiculous, like how big I am. Not that I would ever measure it or anything.”

Ciel’s blush deepened. “Did you really have to say that out loud?!”

Alois snickered. “Oh, come now. Where’s your sense of humor?”

Ciel frowned, hoping to diffuse the situation. “Buried along with my parents.”

“My condolences. Also, way to kill the mood.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m still licking your fingers.” Alois grabbed Ciel’s wrist.

“Hey!” Ciel protested. “What of my price?”

“I didn’t say no, did I? You’ll find out everything you asked and more, but only after I get my fix.” Alois inched closer and closer to his one-eyed counterpart.

Ciel rolled his eye. “Such vulgarity.”

“I know. I’m hopeless. Fingers, please?”

Trapped in Alois’ clutch (though it wasn’t as tight as Ciel anticipated, and if he really cared to fight it, he probably could), Ciel reluctantly offered his fingers to Alois. He was visibly embarrassed, and not-so-visibly . . . curious? The young noble didn’t fully understand his own feelings.

With a saucy expression planted on his face, Alois drew Ciel’s fingers in his mouth at an agonizingly slow pace, relishing in how undone Ciel was becoming before his eyes. This was either hilarious or hot. Or both.

Ciel felt a droplet of sweat roll down his forehead. How did he get here? Wasn’t he supposed to be investigating the disappearance of Derek Clemens? How did he end up in a forgotten basement with his fingers trapped inside the mouth of a ridiculously attractive lunatic?

“I shit you not, Claude Faustus is my butler.” Alois causally remarked between licks.

This was a lot to take in for Ciel. “I . . . what?”

Alois chuckled as he inserted Ciel’s index finger and slowly drew it out, an all too suggestive expression planted upon his face. “I had a little ‘accident’ with my maid back at my manor. Well, that’s when it all went downhill, anyway. I don’t think Claude gives a damn about that maid—or her eyeball, but he needed an excuse to get rid of me, so he saw the chance and took it. After months of being in that god-awful asylum, he stuck me here.”

Ciel did a surprisingly good job of listening, considering the situation at hand. “Wait . . . so . . . your butler . . . is trying to get rid of _you?”_ he inquired to clarify.

“Yeah, but he’d never say it out loud. He keeps telling me that he’s doing all of this for my own good, or whatever. I don’t know why he’s bullshitting me. Maybe it has something to do with . . . well, it’s no matter.” Alois released Ciel’s hand, now sticky with saliva. “Anyway, enough about me. Who is Derek Clemens? That’s what I _really_ want to know. He’s missing, right? Is he your friend? Brother? _Beau?”_ Alois wiggled his eyebrows a little.

It took a moment for Ciel’s astonishment to turn into agitation. “You went rummaging through my things?!”

“Oi! So did you!” Alois exclaimed defensively.

Damn. Good point. With a sigh, Ciel collected himself and backtracked. “Derek Clemens is none of those things to me, because I don’t know him. I have it from a _highly_ reliable source that he’s missing. Or rather, he supposedly refuses to leave the school, though no one here seems too sure about his whereabouts.” He cleared his throat, endeavoring to regain his composure. “But, you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone else about that. I can’t have you blowing my cover.”

Despite his lack of confidence in Alois’ ability to keep a secret, Ciel formally held his hand out to shake. He figured at this point he had nothing to lose, and Sebastian could handle any damage-control that this agreement potentially necessitated.

Alois shrugged. “Seems fair.” He spat in his palm and gave his possible new friend a strong handshake.

Ciel winced. Within the past few minutes, his hand had been thoroughly coated in Alois’ saliva in some form or another.

Alois leaned forward in intrigue. “Wow! So you’re like . . . a detective? Undercover?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Alois’ light blue eyes widened. _“And_ an earl? _And_ the president of the Funtom Company? Bloody hell, what are you doing at this school, th—Oh, right, investigating the disappearance of Derek Clemens. Stupid me, I nearly forgot.” Alois leaned back on a filing cabinet, staring up at the pipes again. “That must be quite the adventure! How did you get to become a detective at such a young age? Are you with Scotland Yard, or are you more like a private eye? Have you ever investigated a murder? Have you shot anyone? Killed anyone? Have you?”

Ciel was taken aback. “You ask a lot of questions . . .”

Alois continued on his speech, resting his hand behind his head for extra comfort. “Claude never lets me do adventurous stuff like that. He bores me and he says cruel things to me, all ‘for my own benefit,’ or ‘to help me achieve my goals.’ Rubbish.”

Ciel scratched his head, unsure of where to begin. “Yes . . . sorry, but . . . if you said Professor Faustus was your butler . . . what exactly does he teach?”

“I think he initially applied for a position as a Latin professor, since he claims that’s his specialty, but someone else got the position before him, so Claude got hired as a biology professor instead. He was rather cross about it when it happened, but I got a laugh out of it. He’ll have to dissect _gruesome_ things with his students now.”

Ciel rubbed his chin a little and narrowed his eye. _A Latin professor, eh? So Sebastian stole the position away from him . . . Ugh, I’m going to have to thoroughly wash my hands when this is over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, better late than never, right?
> 
> All apologies to my handful of readers out there. I really hoped I would be able to maintain a regular uploading schedule, but life got in the way of that. This chapter isn't my best, but it's better than nothing, I guess? Since this is a Ciel x Alois fic, it seems only right that I give you all a new chapter filled to the brim with Ciel interacting with Alois to make up for my absence.
> 
> For those of you that care for an explanation, I'm in a really weird place in my life. During the past two months, my dog passed away, I went out of town for a while, and school stressed me out beyond belief--and it's only going to get more stressful from here on out! (Grad school here I come, hopefully.) I'm not going to say that my future is looking bleak or anything like that, but it does scare the shit out of me, knowing how much stress and pressure I'm up against. On top of that, I've had issues with depression pretty much all my life, and those are starting to make an uninvited guest appearance as well. I've been dealing with other issues on top of that as well, but I'm not going to go in depth on all of them.
> 
> Anyway, y'all didn't come here to hear my life story, but I figured I'd let you know that my lack of updates are not due to a loss of interest in this fic, but rather that I've been dealing with a bunch of shit these days. It's hard to stay focused on anything or come up with new ideas right now, but despite its flaws, I love this fic and I'm determined to continue working on it.
> 
> Alright, that's enough personal shit for now. Cheers!!


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